Fire on Darkness
by Asrai
Summary: What if...? Or: This is here. This isn't. Slash:HPSS
1. Prologue

**Title:** Fire on Darkness  
**Author:** Asrai

**Summary:** What if…? Or: _The young man sighed, looked into the bowl and promptly fainted._  
**Rating:** R Pairing: HP/SS Warnings: Harry's straight. He really is.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all of the other characters belong to J.K. Rowling; I am making no profit with this and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Prologue **

"Severus, I'm home!" Harry called out as he stepped out of the floo and dusted himself off.

"Severus?"

"I'm in the kitchen," came his lover's reply, and as Harry crossed the threshold from the living room to the kitchen, a familiar sight greeted him: Whereas all the counters were clean, the large windows gleaming and left open to admit the slight breeze of spring and the floor completely free of clutter, the kitchen table in the middle of the room was a mess: books were stacked in quite a hazardous way – some of them open and overturned – nearly covering the entire surface, together with scraps of parchment, scrolls and mangled quills; a wand was poking out of what Harry recognized as a Muggle dictionary. A steaming cup of tea stood next to a large pot of ink. Amidst all this chaos sat Severus, scribbling away with a Muggle ballpoint pen.

Now he looked up and smiled at Harry. "You're home early; I didn't expect you before dinner."

Harry shrugged and sat down on the only other chair in the room, a rickety construction that he'd conjured himself when he'd moved in. He was quite proud of it not having collapsed yet. He stretched languidly and yawned.

"Practice ended early, is all. Nobody felt like giving their best if they're not certain that we're going to be able to play. And I feel horrible, zooming around on a broom while everybody else is… Well, making themselves useful."

"What you do is useful, Harry," Severus said gently as he put down his pen. "Not in a very heroic manner, I admit. But we can't all be heroes and spies and such, and watching you zoom around on a broom gives people a sense of normalcy that's quite hard to come by these days. If it bothers you so much, you could always volunteer to do more work for the Order."

Harry snorted and got up to make himself a cup of tea; they'd had this particular discussion before.

"Spend more time trying to avoid Sirius and Mum? Thanks, I think I'll pass."

He rummaged for his favourite blend of tea and promised silently to put everything back into its place later, because he knew that cupboards that were less than immaculately in order annoyed Severus to no end.

"Have you seen the strawberry blend?"

"Why you drink that vile concoction shall forever remain a mystery to me," Severus muttered as he shut the book he'd been taking notes out of. "It's right where you left it, I'm sure. And if it makes you feel better, I don't feel particularly useful, myself. Researching obscure magical objects might pay the bills but the heroic value is zero, I'm afraid."

"What are you working on, anyway?" Harry asked his lover, dropping the last remaining tea bag into a cup before pouring boiling water over it. While he waited for his tea, he wandered over to embrace Severus from behind, peering over his shoulder.

He squinted at the page; after a year of living with the man, he still couldn't decipher his handwriting properly. "The bowl of… shadows?"

Severus nodded. "Despite the less than attractive title it's quite fascinating, actually. Here…" He shifted some of the books and retrieved a wooden bowl from the middle of the table. It was rather small and very plain. To Harry it didn't look magical at all, more like something to eat his porridge out of.

"It does look like an ordinary bowl," Severus explained, "And it's not even very old. I'd say it's about sixty years old, dating back to Grindelwald's reign. If you fill it with water, however, or any other liquid, you start seeing shadows. It's similar to a pensieve or a scrying mirror, but not quite. Fill it with water and I'll show you."

* * *

In another dimension, a rather small, bespectacled young man drummed his fingers on the counter of a dingy Yorkshire shop. The shopkeeper scuttled excitedly out of the back room, bearing a small bowl which he set down carefully on the counter.

"Been in here for ages," he said, "Nobody's much interest in cups and bowls these days, you see. Take a good look, I've already filled it up for you."

The young man sighed, looked into the bowl and promptly fainted.

And the shopkeeper's hoarse exclamation of "Now, there!" coincided neatly with Severus crying "Harry? Harry!" a thousand possibilities away.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_This is here:_

"Ow," Harry groaned feebly, wincing as he licked his parched lips. Somehow he'd acquired a splitting headache as if he'd taken a Bludger to the head. He remembered quite clearly, however, coming home to Severus and looking into that strange bowl before everything went black.

_What the hell has happened,_ he wondered and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly.

"I think he's coming around!" he heard an excited voice whisper.

A young woman leaned over him; she had rather bushy, brown hair that she'd tied back and was wearing plain, blue robes. Harry needed a moment's time to place her.

"Hermione?"

"Harry, we were so worried about you!" she said softly, smiling. "When you didn't turn up at our meeting point, we thought the worst had happened, but then we went to that shop you'd mentioned, took us ages to find High Wizardgate, you know, York's full of odd little streets… Anyway, the shopkeeper didn't know how to deal with the situation at all, he'd just stuffed you into his back room, the nerve of that man! We brought you home straightaway, but you wouldn't wake up – it was horrible, we didn't want to risk bringing you to St Mungo's…" she eventually trailed off and Harry wondered when exactly the world had gone topsy-turvy.

He sat up gingerly and saw a tall, red-headed man come through the door. Harry swallowed drily, realizing that something was very, very wrong indeed.

"Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley," he murmured. "I'm really sorry, but… Aren't you two supposed to be dead?"

_This isn't:_

"Harry? Harry!"

Severus Snape was not a man given to rash and strong emotions, all things considered. Still, when his lover of two years dropped to the ground after having taken a look into the bowl, he felt as if the world had suddenly tilted on its axis. The kitchen, quite cozy just a moment before, now seemed chilly and a strong gust of wind banged the open windows shut. Whether this was due to the weather or his own accidental, erratic magic didn't matter very much to Severus, however, as he jumped out of his chair and kneeled at Harry's side. The young man's skin felt clammy to his touch, cold and sweaty. Severus shook him lightly.

"Harry?"

He got up, and after a moment's panicked fumbling retrieved his wand from where he'd used it as a bookmark earlier. Harry teased him quite often for his slovenly wand-keeping habits, saying that a proper wizard always ought to keep his wand on his body. Severus usually retorted that he was hardly what one might call a proper wizard anyway – and that Harry had spent too much time with Alastor Moody. Now, however, he wielded the wand quickly, pointing it at Harry and almost crying the spell: "_Ennervate!"_

_It should wake him, it should, I cast it properly…_

The spell did not work; Harry didn't even so much as twitch.

He really was in a state now. Nevertheless, he levitated Harry carefully, not sparing another glance at the innocuous-looking bowl whose contents showed the interior of a dimly lit shop before swirling shadows whisked the misty image away.

After having put Harry on the couch in the living room, Severus poured himself quite a large glass of Firewhisky, downed it in one gulp and contemplated what to do next. He himself didn't know any more revitalisation spells; bringing Harry to St Mungo's was out of the question and firecalling Madam Pomfrey would mean involving the Order in private affairs, something Severus usually avoided desperately. He sighed and picked a book on magical First Aid from one of the numerous book shelves. Quickly scanning the pages, he found a spell to check a patient's life signs. Holding the book in one hand and his wand in the other, he murmured the spell and was relieved to see a scroll pop into existence over Harry's still body.

Everything seemed to be fine, except for the fact that Harry was unconscious – something the scroll cheerfully noted, having ticked a box that said "Currently Unconscious", directly under the boxes for "Hexed Into Next Week", "Dead" and "Oh Dear" – and would not wake up.

Severus damned himself for having shown the bowl to Harry – some fine expert for magical objects he was, doing such a foolish thing without having done the necessary research first. But how could he have known that this would happen? True, the bowl's purpose and exact origins were still unknown, other than the fact that it was obviously magical in _some_ way, but there hadn't been a single indication that it was a dark object. He himself had been studying the shadows for hours without any nasty side effects.

He sat down in the large, comfortable armchair next to the couch and cupped Harry's cheek, gently, almost as if afraid to break him.

"Please, wake up," he whispered, and was appalled at how weak and pleading his own voice sounded.

Some minutes passed; or hours. Severus lost every feeling for time as he sat in the living room, clasping Harry's left hand firmly in his own, only dully registering that the shadows on Harry's face slowly changed and lengthened. The magical candles strewn around the room had just lit themselves automatically when Harry stirred and moaned softly.

Severus got up slowly, now hopeful.

"Harry? Can you hear me?"

"I… Water," Harry croaked.

Severus quickly accio'd an already filled glass and gave it to Harry, who sipped with his eyes still closed.

"Thanks," he rasped, "I'm really sorry for fainting away like that, Mr Swallowsea."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Mr Swallowsea, Harry? Are you sure you're quite all right?"

Harry's eyes snapped open abruptly and he scrambled away from where Severus had put his hands on the couch.

"You!" he exclaimed and Severus was rather taken aback at the sheer amount of venom and hatred infused in that one, short word.

"Harry, what is it?"

His lover flinched back from his outstretched arm and almost fell off the couch in his attempt to stand up. He glanced around the room like a caged animal, pressing his back against the wall. Severus noticed that he was white as a sheet; his hands shook violently as he patted his robes, obviously looking for his wand.

"Stay away!" the young man screamed as Severus took a step towards him, "What game are you playing, Snape?"

Having found his wand, he pointed it at Severus, who now raised his hands in what he hoped was a pacifying gesture.

"I don't know what you're taking about, Harry" he said gently, "I'm sorry if-"

"Shut up! And stop calling me Harry! Stop pretending, it's no use!"

Harry's voice definitely had a hysterical edge to it now. Severus' thoughts raced; he tried to make sense of his behaviour and failed utterly. Harry acted as if he despised him, as if they were… enemies of some sort.

"I don't understand," he said slowly, pronouncing each word clearly and carefully, "Stop pretending what, exactly? I'm Severus, you know me!"

"Oh, I know you all right," Harry spat, throwing panicked looks around the room, as if wanting to make sure that nobody else was hiding behind the furniture or in the fireplace.

"How could I ever forget, _sir_? You tormented me for six years, you fooled and betrayed the Order and you murdered Albus Dumbledore!"

"I-" Severus began, but was again interrupted by Harry who now didn't seem so much frightened than absolutely furious.

"Where have you been hiding all those years, Snape? How long have you been planning this? Answer me, damn it!"

Severus was at a loss for words; he just took another step forward. It turned out to be a tactical error, because Harry fixed his wand on his heart and cried out, "_Stupefy_!"

The surprising thing was that nothing happened. Harry's wand gave a small cough; other than that, the spell failed. Harry glanced at his wand in a fury, shaking it desperately. Some pale gold and silver sparks emerged from the tip, nothing more than a weak splutter and certainly not the fireworks that usually exploded from it when Harry used it properly.

Nevertheless, this did not seem to deter Harry from his determination to knock Severus out cold. He threw his wand away and lunged at Severus, who didn't expect a physical attack at all. He wasn't quick enough to draw his own wand or defend himself otherwise and he toppled to the ground under Harry's weight.

"Harry," Severus wheezed, "For all that's good and holy, stop!"

His lover didn't listen; he punched him in the face instead. Severus was certain the he actually heard his nose break, and he saw stars as he gasped for breath.

Perhaps he lost consciousness from the shock and the searing pain tearing through his face; he wasn't sure, but when he opened his eyes it was to see Harry leaning over him, his usually brilliant green eyes now unfocused but glittering with hatred and malevolence.

"Seeming as you don't want to confess, _sir_," he hissed, "I'm going to have to use other methods to get the information I need. See, you'll perhaps be glad to hear that I've eventually mastered the fine art of Occlumency."

Severus sucked in a harsh breath and Harry grinned, more a twisting of the lips; it made him look quite ugly and, as he distractedly noted, not the least bit mad.

"In order to learn it, however, studying Legilimency was also necessary; now there's a tidbit of information that you never deigned to share, did you? All those lessons spent on my knees in your office… I hate you for that alone, Snape. Lucky for me, I won't even need my wand for this."

Harry held Severus' head with both hands; Severus could feel warm blood trickle down his cheeks, wetting his lips. He moaned as Harry locked their eyes, with Severus unable to look away, nearly hypnotised by that green stare.

_"Legilimens!"_

Severus actually screamed out loud as Harry tore through his mind with such an ease and fury that he seemed to rip it apart.

He'd never been interested in the arts of Occlumency and Legilimency other than on a theoretical level. He'd read books on the subject, and he'd once discussed it briefly with Albus Dumbledore, but nothing – _nothing_ – could have prepared him for this agony.

Harry's face swam in front of him, only to be replaced by images, each more vivid than the other: He was five and his parents were screaming at each other while he was hiding under their bed… he was ten and trying to hide his tears as Sirius Black called him 'Snivellus'… he was sixteen, wanking guiltily to thoughts of Remus Lupin naked… finally getting out of Hogwarts, giving the the school a one-fingered salute as he left… he was twenty-two, watching from a window as fireworks exploded over wizarding London… working away in a dusty and nearly forgotten library, chasing one obscure reference after the other…

Severus couldn't stop Harry, couldn't defend himself. He clawed weakly at Harry's chest, but this only caused the other man to strengthen his grip on Severus' head. And the images contintued unabatedly: Browsing in a shop, bumping into Harry for the first time… Harry and himself hastily undressing in a desperate haste to get naked as quickly as possible… Albus Dumbledore's disapproving face as he found out about their relationship… Sirius Black yelling and threatening to hex him black and blue… Him lying next to Harry in bed, slowly stroking his back…

"Please," he whispered brokenly, "Please…"

He wasn't aware of Harry letting go of his face, the blood on it now mingled with tears as he sobbed uncontrollably.

Hearing his lover – _Lover? Not anymore, not after this, no, no, no, please – _stumble away from him, he curled into a tight ball, but this did nothing to ease the pain. The last thing then was the front door slamming shut, sounds of Harry vomiting; and Severus' mind slipped away into a dull roar, a grey sea of shadows and unrecognising green eyes.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_This is here:_

"I'm dreaming," Harry said. "Or hallucinating, though I don't think it matters very much at this point."

"Oh, no, don't say that!" Hermione said anxiously, "Maybe you just took that fall a bit badly, hit your head…"

"Yeah, mate, perhaps it's just like temporary amnesia, you know?" Ron tried to be cheerful and failed.

"Listen," Harry said gently, "This is not amnesia. These are not my clothes and this," drawing the wand tucked in his left sleeve, "is not my wand."

Giving it a little shake he muttered "_Lumos_!" and watched in amazement as the tip lit up like a beacon.

"Seems to be working fine though, so I'm not complaining. Now, I do quite clearly remember you two being murdered on the day of our leaving feast two years ago. I'm sorry, but I saw it with my own eyes. You're dead, I attended your funerals."

"Well, we are obviously not dead," Ron said grimly, "Lucky, eh? And there never was a leaving feast, least not for us- we left school after our sixth year to help you look for the horcruxes. That's why you were at that shop today, we're trying to find old Hufflepuff's cup."

"Horcruxes?" Harry asked and Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

"What in hell are horcruxes?"

_This isn't:_

Harry retched until his his throat hurt and his stomach didn't have anything more to throw up. He wiped his mouth with shaking hands and sucked in deep breaths in order to calm himself.

_This is disgusting, _he thought, _Me and Snape doing… that!_

Somehow he seemed to have ended up… somewhere. Somewhere where he, Harry, was gay and shagging Severus Snape of all people. He wondered if the whole thing was just a very elaborate prank, something that Fred and George had cooked up- except that Fred and George thought him missing, presumed dead, just like the rest of the wizarding world.

Still, it was possible that Polyjuice Potion was involved, that he'd been found out somehow- but why anybody would try and impersonate a friendly –_Gay!!_ Harry's mind screamed, _He's queer on top of being a greasy bastard!_- Snape… To what purpose? And then there was that small matter of Legilimency. Harry had invaded Snape's mind, and while it was possible to use Occlumency to hide one's mind, forging memories to that extent was unheard of.

What now? Simply Apparating away seemed like the easiest way out- his wand seemed to be malfunctioning however if he couldn't even manage a simple _Stupefy_. He could use the floo if the fireplace was hooked up, but then he'd have to enter the house again. Or he could just walk away, but a glance at his surroundings told Harry that the house was situated in what seemed to be a small valley; the next village could be miles away. And he couldn't leave his wand behind, even if it wasn't working. There was nothing for it: Harry would have to go back.

He entered the house gingerly and crossed the room. Picking up his wand, he frowned: Having used the same wand since he'd first bought it at Ollivander's ten years ago, it had become as familiar to him as the back of his hand. His wand was made of holly, never polished and bearing quite a few scratches. _This_ wand was gleaming; dark red wood encased a core of what he was sure was not a phoenix feather.

Harry pointed at one of the candles and muttered, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The candle rose obediently into the air, but in a very shaky kind of way. It wobbled precariously and he hastily lowered it again before it could crash to the ground.

"Bugger," he whispered. Patting his robes to see if his own wand wasn't hidden there somewhere after all, he noticed for the first time that he wasn't even wearing his own, plain black set of robes (his old school uniform- he'd vanished the Gryffindor crest but kept the Quidditch Captain's badge in his trunk) but a more elaborate set, made of fine, dark green linen.

The only thing his inspection yielded was a black leather pouch with wizarding money and a Muggle credit card in it, the owner of which was one Harry James Potter.

Before he could consider this new, puzzling development further, a soft, pained moan reverberated through the silent room.

Harry flinched, suddenly feeling guilty. He'd completely forgotten about Snape for the moment; now he kneeled down next to him and studied the figure lying huddled on the floor.

Snape was… different, to be sure. The last time Harry had seen him had been the night he'd murdered Dumbledore, and that had been three years ago. Snape had been dressed in black as usual; greasy hair, sallow skin, emanating a slight smell of something rotten. Snape now – and Harry wasn't at all sure whether they were one and the same person anymore – was dressed in soft Muggle clothes, Jeans and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was cut quite short and didn't look greasy at all; when Harry touched it with precaution – he expected Snape to wake up and bite his hand off, actually – he only found it to be a bit spiky, nice to touch. This Snape looked, was different from his former Potions master, fundamentally different on a level that he couldn't really grasp or understand.

And then there was of course the fact that his face and his mind were both a bloody mess, all thanks to Harry.

Biting his lip, Harry was now feeling more than anxious. He'd completely lost it, there was no doubt about it. The way he'd punched Snape, how he'd forced his way into his mind – he'd been brutal and he'd been aware of it at the time, too. Despite all the rumours and nasty articles in the _Daily Prophet_, Harry was not mad and not normally prone to violence. Snape, however, the murderer of the only real parental figure Harry had ever known, triggered something inside of him, something dark and irrational: It was hatred, mingled with pity; revulsion with a hint of guilty curiosity.

Harry realised that he'd have to heal Snape; the nose was probably broken and although he wished all the pain in the world on that bastard, he couldn't leave him like that: He'd have to talk to him sooner or later, find out what was going on, and a mashed face would make the other man a bit uncooperative.

Gripping his wand in a sweaty hand, Harry muttered, "_Episkey_!", pointing at Snape's nose. He knew that the spell hadn't worked; there was no tingle of magic in his fingers and the nose remained stubbornly crooked.

Perhaps… There was a wand poking out of Snape's breast pocket. It was considered exceedingly rude in the wizarding world to use another wizard's wand without his permission, but Harry figured that nobody would file a complaint with the Ministry of Magic in this particular case. He studied Snape's wand with curiosity: It was made of holly, and the magical core inside of it felt familiar; probably phoenix feather, then.

Tapping Snape's nose gently with the wand he said "_Episkey_!" again and was relieved to find the nose mended. A quick "_Tergeo_!" took care of the blood and now the man before him didn't look so much like the loser of a pub brawl, but was seemingly only asleep.

Harry levitated him on the same couch where he himself had woken up, briefly considered the respective advantages of putting a blanket over him (sucking up) or petrifying him (raising the odds of himself not being killed on first sight) but finally just left Snape there and went to explore the house.

Entering the kitchen Harry found it to be a cheery room. It was not overly large but it looked like somebody who liked cooking – and cleaning – used it on a regular basis. The kitchen table was apparently used as a desk; there were books piled on it, parchment, quills.

Going back to the sitting room, Harry found more books and old, comfortable furniture as well as some pictures on the mantelpiece that he studied intently for a long time and with growing distress.

There he was himself, waving happily; another one where he was wearing Quidditch robes, having shouldered a broom and sneaking glances at Snape who was leaning against the picture frame with his arms crossed, smiling. There was a picture of three people that Harry didn't recognise: a man (dark hair, black eyes) and a woman (trying in vain to hide a bruise behind a long curtain of hair) sitting in a library. The woman looked up suddenly as a small boy entered the frame, throwing himself into her arms. The next picture fascinated Harry the most: It showed his parents, but not as the ever youthful people that he knew from his own old photo album. No, this James had wrinkles around his eyes; this Lily had some streaks of grey in her hair. They seemed to be in their thirties at the time the picture had been taken; Harry's parents, however, had been dead for nearly 19 years, killed by Voldemort when they'd not been much older than Harry himself was now.

A suspicion that had been slowly growing in his mind now became near-certainty: This utterly alien house belonged to Severus Snape and himself. Only, not really him, just as the still unconscious man on the couch was not his hated teacher but his lover, repulsive as that fact might be. He was now in a world in which he was queer and his parents were still alive.

Perhaps that bowl he'd looked into caused you to live out your worst nightmare? Kind of like Fred's and George's daydreams, only the other way round. Although, if his parents _were_ still alive…

The fireplace suddenly burst into flame; Harry swore and jumped back from the sudden heat.

A familiar voice was calling out of the flames, "Severus? Harry? Are you there?"

Remus Lupin's face appeared in the fire and Harry noted with some relief that he at least appeared to be unchanged; This was the same grey hair that he was used to, the same worn and tired expression.

Harry licked his lips; what to do? Appearances could be deceiving; changes were high that _this_ Remus belonged to this odd world, too, that he would think him hysterical at best and completely bonkers at worst if Harry told him everything.

"Ah, there you are, Harry," Remus said cheerfully, "Is Severus with you? I haven't got much time, I'm afraid."

"He's taking a nap," Harry said a bit desperatly; this was at least partially true.

Remus looked surprised. "A nap? Well, never mind waking him up, the network's being observed and my time window is closing. Just tell him to finish up his research as quickly as possible, Albus wants to present the results to the Order tomorrow. The meeting is at six o'clock, Molly is making Shepherd's Pie and your presence, Harry," he stressed the last few words, "is absolutely required. Do you understand?"

Nodding his assent, Harry watched Remus give a little wave and disappearing; the fire collapsed in itself and left the crate cold and empty.

"D'you feel a bit more sane now?" asked a sarcastic voice behind him and Harry's heart sank as he realised that Snape was awake.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_This is here:_

"So what you're saying is that you're a professional Quidditch player for Puddlemere United, have never, ever seen Voldemort in person and have been Severus Snape's lover for the last two years?"

"Pretty much, yes," Harry said.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron said.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

"No, it's fine," Harry shrugged. "It is quite a shock, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Hermione assured him, then glared at the man sitting next to her, "Professor Snape is probably a perfectly nice man where Harry comes from, Ron!"

"But he's gay!"

"So?"

"I take it that I'm not, here," Harry said quietly.

"No! You went out with my sister!"

"Ginny Weasley? She's… erm… nice."

"Nice?!" Ron's ears turned an alarming shade of red.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I think we have to focus on the important issues here, don't you two agree? And that is how this Harry got to be here, where our Harry is now – if they've swapped places, I mean – and, most importantly, how to get him back. We'll have to go back to York tomorrow and buy that bowl so I can find out exactly how it works. In the meantime, I suggest we all go to bed."

"I'm not sleeping in the same room as him!" Ron said rebelliously.

"Ron!"

"No, it's all right," Harry said, "I'm going to sleep here on the couch. Not that I'd be interested in molesting you anyway," he snapped at the other man, "I prefer my lovers to have half a brain and to not be homophobic, thank you very much."

"I'm not-" Ron began, but a furious Hermione dragged him out of the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

_This isn't:_

Snape drew his wand as Harry turned around and raised an eyebrow, asking, "Have you taken leave of your senses? If you want to end this relationship there's no need to go about it in such a dramatic manner."

"About that," Harry said, "Er… I think there's an, um, misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? It looked quite clear from my point of view, I assure you."

"Listen," Harry said desperately, sitting down in the armchair, "I'm not who you think I am. Where I come from, I loathe you with a passion, so I, um, overreacted a bit when I saw you."

"Yes, I'd noticed," Snape said drily; his wand didn't lower though. "And where, pray tell, do you come from?"

"I don't know. I just looked into that bowl… I was in a shop," Harry explained, "And the shopkeeper said that he had something to show me. Next thing I remember I wake up here. Listen, I'm really sorry for punching you and, er, invading your mind."

"Do you know that using _Legilimens_ on another witch or wizard like that is punishable by law?" Severus asked in a dark tone. "With that amount of coercion involved you could have ripped my mind apart; you could have destroyed my magic. You must hate me quite a lot to disregard the consequences of your actions."

"I want to kill you," Harry muttered, "Well, not… you, obviously, but the Snape I know."

"Ah. Well, in that case, wait here."

Severus rose, quite slowly as if movement pained him; he grimaced and left the room, coming back with a small, wooden bowl that Harry recognised with a jolt.

"That's it!" he cried, "I looked into that one before I fainted."

"Perhaps it will work again, then."

Looking into the clear water, all Harry could see were swirling shadows; brief flashes of colourful images that remained unclear. He sat back, frustrated.

"It doesn't work," he said miserably. "It doesn't work."

"Perhaps you need something to trigger it? The probability is great that Harry… my Harry is now where you come from. Perhaps you switched places, although only in your minds… Your body seems to be the same, at least I don't notice any outward changes."

Harry shrugged; he felt pretty much the same as always, no limbs missing.

"Where'd you get that bowl from, anyway?"

"Albus Dumbledore gave it to me," Severus explained, "I've just started my research on it. Most of the books are in Latin and German and the anti-copy spells on them also prevent translation charms, so work has been slow."

"Is that what it does, though? Throw people into other realities? Is it a real change or does it make me hallucinate?"

"I don't think so. I believe that you and my Harry changed places, although this requires quite a lot of magical energy… I really can't say anymore just at this point."

"So you can't send me back."

"Not without further research, no."

"Great."

Harry rubbed his face tiredly. It had been a long, frustrating day and to find out that he was stuck in this odd reality wasn't helping matters at all.

"So what now?" he asked, "I'm not keen on staying here and I bet you're not too hot about that prospect either."

Severus was silent for a few moments, seemingly lost in though. "I suggest you try and blend in for the foreseeable future. It won't be difficult as it's the weekend and you won't have Quidditch practice –"

"Quidditch practice? But what about the war? There is one here, right?"

"Not officially. You and I are members of the Order of the Phoenix which fights against Lord Voldemort and his followers. If I heard Remus correctly, there's an Order meeting tomorrow that both you and I have to attend, including one of Molly's odious dinners. I'll try and find a way for you to get back home before that."

"Can I… Can I help you somehow? Read books or something?"

Snape shook his head. "Not at the moment, no. I'm still busy trying to sort through them, finding out what could be relevant or not."

"I'm really sorry," Harry blurted out, "I really didn't know… I, erm… well."

"One thing that hasn't changed is your atrocious grasp of the English language, I see," Severs noted drily. "Tell me, what did I do to merit such hate? I believe you mentioned something about me being a murderer."

"You betrayed the Order," Harry said bitterly, "You had us all fooled – Dumbledore trusted you to be a spy and you murdered him when Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts. Plus, you were a right bastard to me when you taught at Hogwarts."

Severus released a short bark of laughter. "My, what a career! A teacher and a Death Eater!"

"It's not funny!" snapped Harry and the other man sobered.

"Of course not. But let me reassure you, I never was, nor will ever be one of Lord Voldemort's obedient servants."

"You don't wear a Dark Mark."

Stretching out his left arm, Severus smiled. "See for yourself."

"I'm… I know you'd rather have your Harry back, not some crazy wizard who attacks you on sight."

"That goes without saying. Nevertheless, what's done is done. I just hope that I can help the both of you. Just tell me… Wherever he is, is he safe?"

What answer could Harry possibly give to that question? His world was ravaged by a violent war that was slowly tearing the wizarding world apart; everybody except Ron, Hermione and Remus though him dead and gone; their little group was slowly running out of money to fund the hunt for the remaining horcruxes, not to mention time as Voldemort took – slowly but surely – hold of the Ministry of Magic.

"I don't know," he said frankly. "He's got my friends to watch out for him."

He just hoped that Ron and Hermione had found the other Harry in the meantime. The consequences of him wandering through wizarding York alone, confused and without having used Polyjuice Potion would be disastrous.

Severus stood up and picked up the bowl. "In that case… What you could do is to write down everything leading up to your swapping places… exact date, place, etc. And, perhaps, some significant discrepancies between your world and mine."

"I'm not gay," Harry said hastily.

The other man snorted. "There is that. You know, there is a theory – a Muggle one – that there is an infinite number of realities in this universe; that for every decision ever made, from the atomic level of probability distribution and statistics, to human actions on a much greater scale, a new reality is created, which splits one reality into two separate ones: One where an affirmative decision has been made and one where it hasn't. An educated guess is that you are from such a reality. It would be interesting to find out just where this split occurred."

"And you assume that I understand what you've just talked about," Harry muttered, then yawned.

"Perhaps not. You should go to bed; it's past midnight and the list has time until tomorrow. There's a bedroom upstairs, or a guestroom, whichever you prefer. Good night."

"Ta," Harry said and watched Snape leave the room.

The staircase to the upper floor of the house was dark and narrow. Harry was surprised to find a working Muggle light switch. He opened the first door to the right: This was a bedroom, with wardrobes, pictures on the wall and some clothes strewn across a large, double-sized bed. He swallowed as he realized that this must be the room he… the other Harry shared with Snape. The bed they shared, they bed they had sex in. He couldn't help a slight shudder of disgust and closed the door quickly.

The next door led to a smaller bedroom that was obviously unused; and hearing Snape pottering around in the kitchen he quickly entered it, closing and locking the door. He curled up on the bed without even bothering to take off his shoes and stared at the dark wall for a long time before finally falling asleep.

* * *

Severus, after leaving Harry in the sitting room, slowly stared to make some fresh tea when he noticed his lover's cup now sitting forgotten on the counter. He re-heated it with a tap of his wand and sipped it carefully. He despised herbal infusions, always had; but this was Harry's, his Harry's favourite and he wanted to feel close to him right now.

It was a long time before he opened one of the books lying in front of him and began to read.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_This is here:_

"This is impossible," Harry said flatly.

"No," Ron muttered, "Sorry, mate."

"You really want to tell me that I'm the Boy-Who-Lived? That there's some odd prophecy about me having to kill You-Know-Who?"

"Yes."

"Look at your forehead, Harry!" Hermione said, "It's all the proof you need. And that's why you can't go out, everybody would recognise you!"

"Well, I'm going to get that bowl, see what we can do. See you later," Ron said and Apparated with a loud crack.

Harry buried his face in his hands.

"I know this must be really hard for you, but we'll find a way to send you back."

"Where's Severus? He knows all about magical objects in my world, what's he do here?"

"Well… er."

An awkward silence stretched while Harry looked expectantly at Hermione.

"Thing is, Harry, Sev- Professor Snape is a Death Eater who murdered Albus Dumbledore and who's been in hiding for the last three years."

_This isn't:_

Despite his inner turmoil Harry slept soundly through the night and woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows; he blinked sleepily and watched tiny dust particles dance in the morning brightness.

One shock was held in store for him, however, when he glanced in the bathroom mirror and nearly choked on his tooth brush: his scar, the one that made him famous throughout the wizarding world, was gone. Well, it was only to be expected, he told himself while pulling back his fringe and staring at his unblemished forehead. His scar wasn't gone; this Harry whose body he was currently occupying had parents who were still alive. The scar had never been there because his mother hadn't died for him.

After having dressed in clothes that he assumed were his – or the other Harry's anyway – he went downstairs to the kitchen to find Snape idly leafing through an enormous book.

"Good morning," Harry said awkwardly.

"Is it?"

Snape snorted as Harry gaped at him. "Never mind answering that. There's tea and coffee, if you want some; or, if you're really desperate, Pepper Up potion."

"You've stayed up all night, haven't you?"

"I think I took a nap between three and four o'clock."

"Great. Found out anything?"

"Nothing that would help you to return before breakfast, I'm afraid."

Snape yawned and Harry suddenly realised that this – this man, this wizard before him was a human being, one completely different from the Severus Snape he knew. This Snape was no beauty by any stretch of the imagination; his face was not the least appealing. He had bags under his eyes, and those eyes were still pitch-black, but not empty. His hair was dishelved; but it was short and clean, not lank and greasy. And his clothing – well.

"Why are you wearing Muggle clothes?" Harry asked abruptly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why aren't you wearing robes? Like black or something? Don't you hate everything to do with… mudbloods?"

Snape flinched and hissed through clenched teeth, "I don't know about your world, but this term is considered highly offensive and I beg you not to repeat it in my presence!"

He continued in a more normal tone, "And why would I despise everything to do with Muggles? My father was one – I went to a Muggle university to get a degree. I've lived in their world for several years. Didn't you know that I'm a half-blood?"

"You called yourself the half-blood Prince," Harry said.

Snape smiled. "At school, yes. This is now more than twenty years ago and I do hope that I've changed since then. It would be a pity if I were still judging people according to the pureness of their blood lines or the House they were in at school."

"But you were in Slytherin?"

"Yes, I was."

"And you never wanted to become a Death Eater?"

"For Merlin's sake, what is this, Twenty Questions? No, I've never had anything to do with Voldemort's lackeys."

"You normally call him the Dark Lord."

"I do not normally call him anything, Harry," Snape said, "Because I am not the man you still believe me to be. I don't know what made my… other self join the Death Eaters. I don't know why he became the man you want to kill, but I am certainly not him. You would do well to remember that."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, chastised, "It's just hard, you know? I don't understand how, what made you this way. I'm just… well."

He busied himself with pouring himself a cup of coffee, carefully not looking at Snape.

"If I can't go back, I thought I'd go to Diagon Alley today, to the library to have a look at some of the old _Daily Prophets_, just so I know what's going on. Is it safe to go out alone?"

"Yes, it should be," Snape replied, "I'm sure you prefer to go without me in any case. I will pick you up there so we can floo to the meeting together. And Harry… I don't know about you, but I would prefer to not involve the Order in this business. If that's what you want to do, however, I would not stand in your way."

"All right, then."

The Diagon Alley that Harry remembered from his own world was a rather gloomy place after three years of a festering civil war. Nobody dared going out alone, and huddling groups of people furtively darted from shop to shop. Ollivander's had only been the beginning; Fortescue's was gone as well, the apothecary had closed up after a burglary and only Fred's and George's joke shop seemed to make profit these days; people needed – desperately craved – something to cheer them up.

The street Harry was standing in now was like a colourful wizarding picture of better times. This was the Diagon Alley he knew from his first visit with Hagrid. If people looked a bit hurried, anxious, if the children looked a bit subdued; if many shops sold protective amulets and charms Harry nearly took no note of it because he was used to so much worse.

The only public wizarding library in Great Britain ("Lending Books since 1602!") was located across the street from Flourish and Blotts. Harry had only heard about it from Hermione who'd sniffed that their collection of magical grimoires was pitiful and that the Hogwarts library was so much better. Still, all the copies of the _Daily Prophet_ since its first publication in 1880 were kept here, in a large hall that Harry was allowed to enter only after the strict-looking witch at the front desk had scanned his wand and informed him that everything in the library was charmed against theft, fire and spells for it to sqeak obscenities at the next reader.

Harry smiled at her in what he hoped was an innocent way, marvelled at the fact that she did not stare at his forehead while talking to him and sat down with several thick folders that contained newspapers of the last thirty years.

Four hours later, Harry slouched into his chair and wished that he smoked – at least a cigarette would calm his nerves. There was a lot of rubbish printed in the _Daily Prophet_, there was no doubt about that, but he'd found – mostly – what he'd been looking for. It seemed that not much had gone differently in this world than in his own (as far as Harry knew- he'd failed the OWL in History of Magic after all) until the first defeat of Voldemort, that was. He quickly scanned the relevant article, printed in a special evening edition:

_You-Know-Who defeated! Wizarding world free at last!_

Upton Magna _- Last night will be a night to remember for years to come as You-Know-Who was vanquished by a one year old boy by the name of Neville Longbottom. Speaking from the Longbottom residence in Shropshire, Auror Ben Odgen commented: "It seems that You-Know-Who was killed by the boy after his mother was murdered in front of his eyes. We don't know anymore yet, I'm afraid- but a thorough investigation of the matter is underway."_

_You-Know-Who entered the small family cottage last night shortly before midnight, apparently with the intention of killing the boy's parents, Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom. The Dark Mark appeared above the house minutes before parts of the house collapsed._

_Neville is currently being cared for by his grandmother while his father, Frank Longbottom (29) is being treated in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He was found gravely injured in the debris of the house._

_His son, however, will be celebrated as the saviour of the wizarding world, the one to free us all._

And, a day later:

_You-Know-Who vanquished by own Killing Curse!_

Upton Magna – _It has come to light that You-Know-Who, who was defeated two days ago by one-year-old Neville Longbottom, used a Killing Curse (one of the three Unforgivable Curses) on the boy which rebounded on himself. How Neville managed this heretofore unheard of feat is as yet unclear, but he is the only one to ever survive this curse: He truly is the boy who lived._

So Voldemort had chosed Neville – and it was Neville who had the weight of the prophecy on his shoulders now. Harry smiled bitterly and made a note on a piece of parchment that had become the list for Severus about the differences between their realities. He'd tried to be objective and blasé about the whole thing though some of the afternoon's revelations had shocked him, like this little note in the newspaper five years ago:

_James Potter Missing_

Godric's Hollow – _Celebrated Auror James Potter, 36, went missing three days ago during a routine mission in Taunton, Somerset. Search has proven fruitless so far as his wife, Lily Potter (35), is recovering in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries from severe spell damage and trauma obtained earlier this week. Head of Auror Department Rufus Scrimgeour was unavailable for comment._

Harry hadn't been able to find any more information about his father, but the lack of further news made him suspect that James had been killed in the fight against Voldemort (whose return the _Prophet_ had announced in bold letters only some months ago) or doing work for the Order and that his death had been hushed up by Cornelious Fudge who still clung to his post of Minister of Magic here and was as great an imbecile as ever.

There were even some news about him, in the Sports section, announcing that Puddlemere United had won a match against the Wimbourne Wasps 210-20, thanks to keeper Oliver Wood and seeker Harry James Potter who seemed to work well together despite their spectacular and rather public break-up two weeks prior.

Quickly packing up the folders, Harry looked at the finished list:

Voldemort was defeated by Neville Longbottom who then became the boy who lived 

_Neville's father survived the attack (??)_

_James Potter starts training as an Auror_

_ so they survived because of the Fidelius Charm?_

_  
Regulus Black acquitted of all charges of being a Death Eater_

_ he was killed in my world_

_ does that mean that Regulus is/was the spy?_

_Cedric Diggory survives the Tri-Wizard tournament_

_ he wins the tournament, Neville came second_

_ there was a plot in my world to revive Voldemort around that time_

_ --But Voldemort did come back around that time, didn't he?_

_James Potter goes missing_ - _he's already dead at that time in my world_

_I'm really, really gay_ (Harry had crossed that one out after he figured that he needn't be more immature about the whole thing than was strictly necessary.)

_Hermione Granger gets killed together with Ronald Weasley after their leaving feast ceremony; Draco Malfoy suspected_

_Albus Dumbledore is still alive here_

_After that it's pretty much the same, even though Voldemort seems to move more slowly here. I don't know why._

It was rather cold and rainy outside when Harry left the library to wait for Snape. There had been no mention of him at all in all the newspapers Harry had read today and it seemed that he'd told the truth: He wasn't a Death Eater, wasn't even suspected of supporting Voldemort and whatever he did for a living didn't earn him any public attention whatsoever.

But if Harry had thought that this world, this reality was somehow better than his own then that assumption was proven wrong by the deaths of Ron and Hermione at the hands of that bastard Malfoy. It didn't matter that he'd perhaps never been friends with them here; they were dead and Harry grimly planned how to eviscerate Draco Malfoy while waiting for Snape to show up.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_This is here:_

"Ron!" Hermione jumped up when Ron Apparated into the living room carrying a small parcel.

"Oh Ron, hurry up, we've got to go find Harry!"

"Whoa, slow down," Ron said, putting the parcel on the table, "What do you mean, we have to go find Harry?"

"He's gone!" Hermione exclaimed, wringing her hands, "I… I just- he asked me about Snape and I told him, and then he got a really strange look on his face and just left. Oh, this is awful!"

"D'you mean to tell me that Harry has gone off in search of Snape? The murdering bastard himself?"

"I don't know," Hermione said desperately, "I think so… This is a disaster, he's going to get himself killed!"

"Do you have any idea where to start looking for him though? For that matter, does Harry? Nobody's been able to find Snape for years."

"At least we have to try! Snape's going to murder him… Or hex him to bits and bring him to Voldemort which would be even worse."

Ron nodded. "We could try a simple Point Me spell first. Come on, let's go."

_This isn't:_

Harry didn't have to wait long for Snape to show up. He nodded in greeting and fell into step beside the older wizard.

"Have you found anything of interest?" Snape asked him.

"Yes," Harry replied, "I've made a list. D'you want to see it now?"

"Later, after the meeting. I cannot tell you the location of the headquarters, seeing as it is under a Fidelius Charm, but I hope that it will recognise you anyway. If not, well… We'll see. We'll have to use Side-Along Apparition."

They turned into a narrow street just off Gringotts and Harry grabbed Snape's arm.

"Ready?"

"Sure."

Apparating while hanging on to somebody else was a horribly unpleasant as ever, but at least it was over relatively quickly. Harry stumbled upon arriving and Snape slung an arm around him to keep him from falling. He barely had a moment to register the warmth of the touch before Snape released him and stepped back.

"Can you see it?" he asked.

Harry squinted in the growing darkness of the evening; a small, white cottage appeared before him, all windows on the ground floor ablaze with light.

"Where are we?" he asked curiously.

"Godric's Hollow."

Harry started violently. "My parents' house?"

"Your mother's house," Severus corrected, "Your father died five years ago. He was killed by Voldemort when he created himself a new body."

"So that's what happened. Blood of the enemy and all that… I only read about him going missing."

Harry rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his robes. "But my mum, she's… She's all right?"

"Oh yes," Snape said, "But, Harry – You and your mother… Well, you don't have the best of relationships with her."

"Why?" Harry asked but before Snape could answer they were interrupted by Remus Lupin Apparating right next to them.

"Severus, Harry, it's good to see you!" he said warmly and then proceeded, to Harry's utter shock, to embrace first him and then Snape, who did not only not maim Remus but returned the hug with obvious affection.

"It's been too long, Harry," Remus said while knocking on the door. "I know you must be busy with practice and all, but people have remarked on your absence during the last meetings. It won't do to let your personal issues with some of its members interfere with your duties towards the Order."

"Yeah… er, well," Harry shrugged. What was he supposed to answer to that?

Remus threw him a slightly puzzled look, but in that moment the door was opened and Harry saw his mother – Lily Potter, alive, for the first time in his life. This was not a memory from a Pensieve, nor a smiling, waving figure from a photograph or mirror. This was his mother, beautifully alive.

"Mum!" he blurted out. "Hi!"

"Hello, Harry," Lily said softly, throwing him the same puzzled look as Remus just a moment before.

"Severus, Remus. Do come in."

Harry felt quite out of place, stepping into his parents' home, the one he'd never seen. He'd never been to the ruin that was this house in his world. He'd visited his parents' graves in the small churchyard of Godric's Hollow three years ago, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to see the place where both James and Lily had been murdered, where he'd been made an orphan stranded in an unfriendly world.

Entering this house now seemed like walking right into a dream of his boyhood. The cottage wasn't overly large, but warm and cozy, quite welcoming. When they stepped into the living room a large fire crackled in the fireplace; squashy armchairs and some chairs were grouped around a huge table covered with scrolls and cups of steaming tea. Harry thought that the room had to be magically enlarged to accommodate so many people; he counted at least twenty Order members, amongst them many Weasleys – and Sirius Black, his godfather.

In the five years since Sirius' death Harry had tried his best to forget the pain associated with his godfather's fall through the veil, though he could never help the slight pang of guilt when thinking of him. Sirius had been an unhappy man when he'd died; it had been a premature end to a life whose defeats had been etched deeply in his pale face.

The man talking animatedly to Nymphadora Tonks now reminded Harry strongly of the fifteen years old Sirius he'd seen in Snape's memory: he was older, to be sure, but also very handsome. He exuded an aura that suggested that he was at ease with himself, an aura of purpose and power that _his_ Sirius had never had.

And then there was Neville, sitting at the end of the table, idly doodling on a piece of parchment. Neville, whose lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead was cleary visible, as the other man wore his hair cropped very shortly; Neville, who wasn't the least pudgy and whose gaunt face didn't remind Hary of the boy he'd known at school at all.

Harry even recognised the man sitting next to him: Neville's father, Frank Longbottom. He only bore a passing resemblance to the man Harry had seen while visiting Arthur Weasley at St Mungo's several years ago. Frank Longbottom was a powerful wizard and he knew it, too – he was in deep conversation with Albus Dumbledore, gesticulating as he spoke.

Biting his lip, Harry quickly looked away; he'd never really got over Dumbledore's death, sometimes waking up from nightmares where he watched the other wizard fall and fall. To see him now here, wearing brightly coloured robes and a pink hat with little blue polka dots on them only reminded Harry of what he himself had lost when Snape had blasted the headmaster right off the Astronomy Tower.

"We seem to be complete," Dumbledore called out cheerfully, "Shall we start? Severus, I belive, has found some information on the bowl Emmeline and Hestia retrieved for us some days ago."

Snape got up; all eyes now rested on his supposed lover and Harry somehow got the feeling that the other man just wanted to shove his hands into his jeans pockets, an urge made impossible by the fact that he was currently wearing robes.

"Well," Snape cleared his throat, "I managed to find out some things about the bowl… It does look rather plain," he waved his wand and conjured a three-dimensional picture of the bowl which hovered in mid-air, slowly spinning on its axis, "It's about sixty years old and was probably fabricated in Germany during Grindelwald's reign in one of the wizarding concentration camps. The lack of markings or a magical signature makes dating it a bit difficult, however.

"As to its purpose… Some of the documents I've been able to translate refer to it as the bowl of shadows- the _Schattenschale_. If it is filled with any kind of liquid, shadows and images appear in the bowl. It is impossible to identify anything of substance though. Its original purpose is unclear. My… guess, if you will," and here Severus' eyes flickered shortly to Harry, "is that it can transport one's self – that is, the mind and innate magic in a wizard or witch – to another reality. It seems that identical people can trade places – not their bodies, mind you – upon looking in the bowl."

"How could that be possible?" Neville asked, "Surely it would require an awful lot of energy to function?"

"And the theory of separate and alternate dimensions has never been proven, Snape," Sirius drawled, "You, defender of all things Muggle should know that."

"I assure you, there's nothing remotely Muggle about that object," Snape said curtly and Harry was amazed at how he apparently knew better than to engage in a row with Sirius Black.

"Anyhow, it's not my opinion or my own theory I'm stating, merely my findings from other sources. There aren't that many: The bowl was reported stolen when its original owner was tried and convicted during the Nuremberg Trials in 1948 and it has only resurfaced during Voldemort's first reign. It was sold after his disappearance which seems to suggest that it was thought to be a dark object that someone wanted to get rid of. I don't know why Voldemort shows any interest in it now; its workings seem to be uncontrollable as you can't choose the reality you end up in. Perhaps he knows more than we do and has got hold of some of the original constructions plans for it."

Snape sat down; the image disappeared and Harry suppressed the insane urge to pat his hand reassuringly.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, "I would be grateful if you could deepen your research, nevertheless. It may be that you have overlooked some vital detail."

Snape shrugged and Harry gaped at both him and the headmaster. It seemed impossible that Dumbledore would criticise the other wizard in front of the whole Order, even if it was done in such an indirect manner, just as Snape's indifferent reaction was just plain strange.

But then the other members of the Order engaged in a lively discussion about making possible alliances with the goblins and how to prevent too many giants from entering Great Britain. Lupin gave a short report about his progress with a particular werewolf pack that had vowed to remain neutral during conflicts – and Severus didn't say a word, his opinion was not asked of him and he seemed content to sit still, sip tea and listen, just as Harry himself was.

That was when Harry realized that neither he nor Snape were key members of the Order.

Snape was not the valued spy, nor was he himself the boy who lived whose very life depended on the Order of the Phoenix succeeding in their goal of killing Voldemort.

No, they were minor players on Dumbledore's virtual chess board: a professional Quidditch player and an expert on magical objects (or whatever Snape's job was) weren't really decisive figures in this war. Neville was the turning point here: discussing strategy with his father and Lily, arguing with Sirius, listening respectfully to Dumbledore.

Harry stared at his hands and let the flow of voices wash over him, not really listening anymore, only looking up when Remus gave him a small nudge.

"At least try to pretend to be interested, Harry," he whispered, "I know it's hard."

Harry nodded and caught the last bit of Tonks' sentence, "… definitely check it out."

"Any volunteers?" Frank Longbottom had a deep, pleasant voice. "It shouldn't take that long, really. Our problem is that guarding the entry to the Department of Mysteries has priority right now and most members are already on duty there."

"I'll go," Sirius said easily, "I can close the shop for a couple of hours on a Sunday, no problem."

"You need somebody to go with you, Sirius. Taking on Dementors is no easy task. What about you, Harry?"

Harry started but Neville robbed him of any chance to answer. "Harry? But he can't even manage a decent Patronus to save his life!"

"What?" Harry asked stupidly. Dumbledore's question and Neville's violent rebuttal had taken him by surprise; he didn't see any immediate cause for it, except that the other man might not like him.

Sirius snorted. "Well, if Harry here can pry himself loose from his time consuming occupations of Quidditch and caring for his lover I'll be sure to bring him back in one piece."

"Sirius!" Lily exclaimed.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry hissed at Snape as Sirus, Neville and Lily engaged in a short but heated argument, "Doesn't _anybody_ here like me? Why do they think I'm incompetent?"

"I do and you're not, but I'll explain later," Severus muttered back.

"Great. Just absolutely bloody fantastic. Listen," Harry raised his voice, "I'm all right with going with Sirius to check out… er…"

"Slytherin's tomb," Remus breathed in his ear.

"… Slytherin's tomb," he finished. "Just tell me when and where and I'll be there."

"Well, that settles it!" Dumbledore said delightedly, "You can tell us all about your findings on Monday then. The next Order meeting is taking place at six o'clock. Just to remind you, the people on Ministry duty are Neville, Nymphadora, Lily, William, Charles, Hestia and Kingsley, in that order. I think this will be all, which leaves us ample time to enjoy Molly's excellent cooking!"

As scrolls and cups were cleared away with a wave of Lily's wand and steaming dishes, cutlery and plates appeared, Harry turned to Snape who raised an eyebrow.

"We definitely have to talk, Sn – Severus," he said softly.

"Yes. We do. My, Harry, what have you got yourself into?"


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_This is here:_

Harry Potter was not the most talented seeker in a century for nothing; he was good at finding things and location spells were pretty much all that he had really excelled in at school – except Quidditch, of course. Once he knew a witch or wizard – knew the type of wand they used, knew their personality, their magical signature – he could find them anywhere.

That was why he was now standing in front of a rundown terraced house somewhere in Northern England.

Even though this Severus Snape here was apparently a back-stabbing, murdering Death Eater there had to be something of Harry's Severus in him – otherwise his charm would have failed.

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the front door.

_This isn't:_

"Merlin, that was awful," Snape groaned as he dropped into a chair and lit the lights in the kitchen with a flick of his wand.

Harry couldn't agree more with that particular statement. If he'd thought that the Order meeting itself had gone badly, the subsequent dinner had been even worse. He'd been ignored by most people except for Remus who'd chatted animatedly with everybody around him. He'd tried drawing Harry into the conversation, but had only got short and rather monosyllabic answers.

Harry had been fully occupied with watching Molly Weasly fuss over Neville and his father. The food on his plate had apparently been transfigured into something resembling cardboard while Sirius and his mother had sat close together and ignored him completely. Snape had been of little help as Arthur Weasley had taken the opportunity to quiz him extensively about "that horrid Muggle war" by which he meant World War II.

"Why doesn't anybody like me?" Harry asked plaintively, "Do I smell? Did I bully people at school? What's wrong with my mum and Sirius?"

Severus sighed.

"I can't explain this without the help of copious amounts of alcohol I fear," he said and summoned a bottle filled with a golden liquid.

"Firewhisky?"

Harry nodded; getting hammered started to sound appealing at this point of the day.

"Perhaps it would help it you could show me your list first," Snape said.

Digging in his pockets, Harry retrieved it and smoothed out the crumpled piece of parchment.

"It's all I could find. Oh, and Sirius is dead, while here, he's not…"

"No, _here_ he's just a nasty prick who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."

Harry felt that he should jump to his godfather's defence, but there wasn't really much he could say and he felt tired, drained now. Getting into an argument about Sirius with the only person who could help him get back was probably not a very smart idea.

Severus read through the list and didn't speak after that for a long time.

"Am I right in the assumption," he said at last, "that you are the boy who lived? That your own mother, Lily Potter, gave her life to save you, thus protecting you from the Killing Curse?"

"Yeah."

"Well." Severus reflected on that for a while. "So it didn't matter who Voldemort was trying to kill and he chose a child at random."

"No, no, you've got that wrong," Harry explained, "Don't you know what the Order is trying to guard in the Department of Mysteries? It's a prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney to Albus Dumbledore about the both of us, Neville and me. It said that Voldemort would either mark him or me as his equal."

And as Harry explained everything, from the prophecy to Snape being the spy and Petter Pettigrew the traitor, to his parents' betrayed Fidelius Charm and him being raised by the Dursleys, Snape grew more and more quiet, interrupting only for the occasional clarification.

When Harry had finished, he downed the tumbler of Firewhisky before him in one long gulp. The liquid burned down his throat and seemed to light a small fire in the pit of his stomach.

Severus took a sip of his own glass and made a face. "I know it sounds ridiculous and rather egoistical in light of more important revelations, but the thought of me joining the Death Eaters and then becoming a teacher of Potions – Potions! – does not fail to elicit a slight shudder of disgust in me. Teaching children, at Hogwarts!" He laughed shortly, but it was not a happy laugh.

"So what did you do after finishing school?" Harry asked him.

"I told you, I went to a Muggle university and read Physics with Philosophy, which I did solely to annoy my dying father. I only returned to the wizarding world when Voldemort was first defeated by Neville."

Harry tried picturing Severus Snape taking notes in a Muggle lecture hall and failed. The mere thought of Snape in a Muggle setting – _any_ Muggle setting – was enough to boggle the mind.

"As to your earlier questions: You neither smell nor did you bully your fellow students at school, quite unlike your father I might add. As far as I've gathered you spent most of your time playing Quidditch and chasing after every remotely homosexual boy, with some success. You had a terrible and unsuccessful crush on Draco Malfoy and have on repeated occasions begged me to obliviate this rather embarrassing episode from your mind."

"Yuck!" Harry exclaimed, "Draco _Malfoy_? That vicious little Death Eater spawn?"

"There's no accounting for taste, Harry," Severus said sardonically, "Concerning your mother and Sirius… Getting over James' death was hard for you. Shortly after his death you came out and Sirius and Lily… They didn't take it well, but things got worse when Sirius moved into the cottage at Godric's Hollow to, ah, comfort your mother."

"Do I want to know just what comforting her involved?" Harry asked.

"I think you can imagine. Perhaps everything would have been fine eventually, but Sirius nigh well went ballistic when you told them that you were in a relationship with me. You see, you couldn't have made a worse choice: having a relationship with a man was bad enough, but falling in love with a man twice your age, old enough to be your father, a man your godfather had derided and bullied at school for being a greasy queer and an expert on nasty curses… That was a bit much, the killing blow to an already fragile relationship."

"Wonderful," Harry sighed, "So I am… So this other Harrry is a Quidditch obsessed, gay wizard who failed all his NEWTs and who has a crappy relationship with his family."

"You didn't fail your NEWTs – in fact you passed them all, much to everbody's surprise. How you managed such a feat is a mystery even to you. Nevertheless, you bested poor Neville in Defence against the Dark Arts, even though you never showed up for any of the classes – hence his slur against your Patronus tonight."

"Um, about that. Slytherin's tomb – his supposed tomb – is swarming with Dementors and I'll go and investigate?"

"Yes. Try not to get yourself killed, please," Severus said, "Fascinating as this all is, I'd quite like to get my lover back."

"Feeling's entirely mutual, Sn – Severus."

Harry slept in the guestroom again that night. Snape stayed up late after he had gone upstairs, researching the origin of the bowl and trying to find a clue as to where the original documents – if there were any – might be.

Harry heard him climb up the stairs and softly open the door to the room where he slept. He didn't know whether he was dreaming or not as he felt a gentle hand slowly stroke his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. The warm press of lips breathing a kiss on his skin felt like coming home to Hogwarts after an endless summer, like seeing Ron and Hermione again, like riding his broom in the golden morning dawn.

Harry didn't remember any of this when he came down the next morning; this time he found Snape sprawling in an armchair and poking his wand at a small scroll.

"Hey," he said distractedly, "When's your meeting with Black?"

"I have to go soon," Harry replied and went to the kitchen in search of breakfast.

"There's toast and eggs if you want some!" Severus called after him and for one horrible moment Harry felt as if he'd stepped through a broken, distorted mirror right into an everyday, Muggle household scene.

After drinking a cup of coffee to wake up properly he approached the other man with some trepidation.

"Say, is there any way that I could, um, get you to lend me your wand?"

Severus lowered the scroll he was squinting at. His face was perfectly blank as he answered, "Sexual favours, Harry."

Harry spluttered and was sure that he blushed six ways to Sunday, but thankfully Snape smiled and shook his head.

"Never mind. Why d'you need my wand?"

"Mine doesn't work," Harry replied and to prove it he muttered "_Lumos_!" with his wand pointing towards the ceiling. The tip began to glow slightly but the light wasn't even as strong as an ordinary Muggle match. There was no way that he could Apparate by himself, let alone conjure a corporeal Patronus.

"Interesting," Severus commented, "It seems that unicorn hair doesn't fit your personality at all. My wand has a core of dragon heartstring; is that more to your taste?"

"It worked fine for me when I healed… you know," Harry tapped his nose.

"I guess I won't need it today anyway," Severus said, "I originally planned on going to Germany, to see if I can find some more decent sources, but those blasted wizards over there have adapted to the Muggle lifestyle insofar as that shops and libraries are closed on Sundays. And do you know why? So people can go to church! Ridiculous, utterly ridiculuos."

He shook his head before handing Harry his wand.

"Ta," Harry muttered and then he remembered something. "Where are we, by the way? I can't Apparate if I don't know the rough distance."

"North Yorkshire, near a small village called Goathland," Severus said.

"Good luck!" he called after him as Harry vanished with a soft pop.

Arriving in Godric's Hollow in front of his mother's – and now apparently also Sirius' – house, Harry was rather glad that he hadn't got splinched. Knocking on the front door he heard a female voice call out, "Come in, it's open! We're in the kitchen."

The scene that greeted him was the very picture of domestic bliss: a table with the remains of a large breakfast, his mother reading the _Sunday Prophet_ and Sirius idly watching her turn the pages.

"Good morning," Harry said awkwardly, "I've, er, come to fetch you."

"You don't say," Sirius retorted, "And here I thought this was a social call."

"Sirius!" his mother lowered the newspaper and glared at her lover? – companion? – whatever, not sounding unlike Hermione when she was berating Ron or Harry. Until now Harry had thought that he'd adapted to the whole situation rather well, all things considered. Nevertheless, seeing both his mother and his godfather alive in a setting that seemed so strange and surreal, almost innately wrong to him… He desperately wished that he had his friends with him now.

"I suppose it won't take that long," Sirius was saying now, "Take care while I'm gone."

"Don't I always?"

Sirius grinned, glanced at Harry and then leaned down for a long kiss with Lily who was returning it rather enthusiastically. Harry blushed and looked away.

"Let's go then."

Once outside he grabbed Sirius' arm for Side-Along Apparition because he didn't actually know where Slytherin's tomb was. A moment later their surroundings were compressed and faded away and a green and brown landscape appeared before them. This time there was no Severus to keep him from falling and Harry landed on his butt. Sirius grinned.

"Thanks anyway," Harry grumbled.

The countryside around them was rather flat and had a greyish tinge to it. It was a cold, dreary day with an overcast sky and the ground beneath Harry's fingers was moist. A short distance away there a mound, barely high enough to qualify as a small hill.

"Is that it?" he asked.

The other wizard nodded. "Rather unspectacular, isn't it? But at least we didn't Apparate right into a nest of Dementors and that's got to count for something. Let's go up, see if we find anything. Tonks reported a suspiciously high concentration of Dementors in this area. Muggles have always avoided it but now they positively hate this place. They say it's sucking the happiness right out of them."

"Okay," Harry said, getting up, "Anything else of importance?"

"Nobody's ever been able to enter old Salazar's grave, but in there is probably the reason why Dementors are interested in it. Alternatively there's a remote possibility that Voldemort actually sent those buggers to guard the tomb or something that's in it – you would know this if you hadn't been busy with Snivellus during the Order meeting yesterday."

"I wasn't –" Harry began hotly but then a sudden idea occurred to him – could it be that Voldemort was actually hiding one of his horcruxes in this grave and had sent Dementors to keep it safe? It would make sense, after all: Salazar Slytherin's tomb surely held some significance for his heir and if anybody was able to enter it then that person was surely Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard of their age.

His godfather had already begun climbing the hill and Harry followed him quickly. Once they'd arrived at the top Sirius pointed towards the ground.

"Look."

Harry looked down and made out a large, rectangular slab of polished black stone. It was bare except for an exquisitely carved snake in the lower right corner. Leanding down, Harry examined it more closely. The body of the serpent was only chiselled into the stone but its head was reared and worked out like a small sculpture; it was flicking its tongue. Its eyes were made of green stones and he got the prickling feeling that the snake was watching him.

He drew Severus' wand.

"_Alohomora_!" he tried. The stone didn't so much as twitch and Sirius snorted.

"Believe me, better wizards and witches than you have tried moving that thing and nobody's succeeded yet. Removing it by force doesn't work either… _Bombarda_!"

Harry jumped back quickly as the shock wave of the other wizard's spell hit the stone and – vanished without any effect.

"Bloody hell," he said. He touched the snake with his fingertips and almost felt the warmth pulse deeply within. Asking himself if he could still speak Parseltongue without his scar he concentrated on the snake's forked tongue and whispered, "_Can you hear me?"_ It came out as a soft hiss and he felt the snake move beneath his fingers; he quickly snatched his hand back and wiped it on his robe.

"Sirius," he said, "Perhaps Neville could, er, try to open the tomb? It could be that it responds to Parseltongue."

But the older man wasn't listening; he was staring into the distance and now Harry felt it, too: a sense of coldness, dark dreariness that surrounded him. He scrambled for his wand; the already grey sky overhead had turned completely dark and he called out "_Lumos_!"

"Sirius!" he yelled, "Let's go! There's too many of them!"

The Dementors – for it was indeed Dementors surrounding them – were now approaching rapidly, and there were at least twenty of them, enclosing them from all sides.

"SIRIUS!"

But his godfather seemed to be frozen. He didn't move when Harry shook him and Harry took his hand and tried Apparating them both to safety. He closed his eyes but this proved to be a mistake: In the darkness he heard a voice screaming, begging.

"Fuck!"

Harry swore; he'd splinch them both if he tried Apparating while listening to his mother being murdered. The Dementors were only a few yards away now and he could hear their rattling breath and his own harsh panting. Everything else seemed to have gone completely quiet.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" he yelled and a silvery vapour emerged from the wand; he'd either not been able to find a happy enough memory or Snape's wand didn't work for him either.

One of the Dementors was now reaching out to him; Harry stepped back, stumbled and landed butt first right on top of Slytherin's grave. He took Sirius down with him. Finding himself lying in a patch of muddy grass and having scraped both hands bloody on the edge of the stone snapped the other man out of his stupor as he cast wild looks about him and drew his own wand.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" he bellowed.

His Patronus wasn't any more powerful than Harry's however, barely enough to drive their attackers back.

"_Protego_!" Sirius shouted and Harry wondered what use a Shield Charm for hexes could have against Dementors when suddenly one of them began pulling down his hood. Harry's whole word narrowed down to loud, laboured breaths – his own, he realized dimly – and that black hood.

Gripping his wand more firmly he thought of Ron and Hermione playing chess against each other, of racing through the sky on his broom, of waking up next to Ginny, sleepily kissing the freckles on her shoulders.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

He didn't even realise that he'd cast the spell wordlessly, nearly subconsciously until a large silvery stag errupted from his wand. It cantered towards the Dementors, driving them back one by one and Harry only lowered his wand when all that remained on the mound were Sirius and himself.

"Come," he said gently, hoisting the other man's arm over his shoulder and Apparating away, leaving behind them a small space of vacuum that was filled with a soft whoosh of air just a moment later.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

_This is here:_

The last thing Harry expected to happen was for Severus to simply open the door and invite him inside in a perfectly friendly manner.

As soon as the door was closed, however, Severus pointed his wand at Harry's heart.

"Tell me, Potter," he hissed maliciously, "why I shouldn't kill you right now – I'm sure my Lord would be most displeased but the pleasure of ending your miserable life myself might just be worth it."

Harry couldn't answer; he only stared at the other wizard, shock evident on his face.

"Sev – Severus?" he asked in a whisper.

Snape sneered. "So it's Severus now, Potter? Tell me… Why have you come here?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well? Tell me or I will kill you, make no mistake."

"I don't know," Harry croaked.

"Is that so," Severus said silkily. His voice was the only feature that reminded Harry of his lover. Everything else about him was dark, twisted beyond recognition; hatred glowed in those black eyes.

"Severus?" a nervous voice squeaked from upstairs, "Who is it?"

"Come down and see," Severus called and his lips twisted into something resembling a smile, "Look who's come to visit, Wormtail."

_This isn't:_

Harry knew that it was terribly rude to Apparate right into somebody's house but he figured that as it was theoretically also his house it wouldn't matter so much. Arriving in the living room he called out Snape's name and was relieved to see the other man appear quickly.

"What happened?" he asked as he helped Harry drag Sirius to the couch. "I have to say, the number of unconscious people on this piece of furniture has increased considerably since your arrival, Harry."

"Dementors," Harry explained, "He should be fine with a bit of chocolate. Oh, and he injured his hands."

Severus went to fetch a slab of Honeyduke's Best as well as some salve while Harry muttered a charm to clean the dirt from Sirius' hands. Severus handed Harry the chocolate.

"You feed it to him; he's likely to bite my fingers off if I try."

Harry slowly fed the chocolate to his godfather in small pieces; Sirius seemed to revive with each bite. Finally he shook his head and coughed.

"That's enough," he rasped.

Meanwhile Severus had applied the salve and Sirius flexed his hands slowly.

"I suppose I have to thank you now."

"Don't bother, Black," Severus said caustically, "We know you after all."

Harry shushed him with a motion of his hand. "Do you feel well enough to Apparate or do you want to floo?"

"Floo, I think."

After bundling off the other wizard into the fireplace Harry turned to Severus and held out the wand. "Thanks for that. Turns out I really needed it because Sirius wasn't very, erm, helpful."

"Black is an idiot." Severus sneered and Harry was vividly reminded of his former teacher for just a moment. But then the look on the other man's face passed and Severus was the friendly almost-stranger of the last two days again.

"About Slytherin's tomb," Harry said, "We didn't find out why the Dementors are there but I'm pretty sure that Voldemort sent them."

"Voldemort hasn't got much power over the Dementors anymore, Harry," Severus replied, "Since they left Azkaban some months ago the Ministry has done all it can to actually destroy them. There are wards against them in every magical dwelling. They can feed off Muggles, but not for very long; they're starving."

"Then why would they be there? There's not a wizarding soul in that area."

Severus shrugged. "Perhaps they can feel that the place is magical. Slytherin was a very powerful wizard after all."

"I think I know how to open his tomb; a Parselmouth should be able to do it," Harry said, "So we should, er, go back and see what's in the grave. Just to make sure."

"No," Severus said flatly.

"We could leave – what?"

"I said no," the other man repeated, "Leave it to the Order. Suggest it to Neville. He's the boy who lived and a Gryffindor to boot, I'm sure he'll jump at the opportunity."

"But…" Harry gaped; Severus had crossed his arms and glared at him.

"But we've got the time," he said finally, "You know the Order, they'll probably take ages to make a decision! And then it'll be Neville and his dad going off, I can't volunteer again, they'll laugh in my face if I did!"

"Exactly. You are not going to go back there, get your soul sucked out by Dementors or killed by whatever there is in Slytherin's grave!"

"Why not?" Harry yelled, his temper suddenly spiking, "It's only Dementors, I know how to handle them! What's got into you all of a sudden?"

"What you are conveniently forgetting," Severus hissed, "is that you are currently inhabiting my lover's body – can you imagine what would happen if you die here, or get yourself injured? I want my Harry back, uninjured and whole, and the probability of that ever happening decreases with every one of your antics!"

"Antics!" Harry exclaimed, "Antics, you say? The mission today wasn't my idea, if you'd care to recall, but now I've been there and I want to find out what's in there! I don't know about your _lover_," he spat out the word like a curse, "but he must have been quite a coward to skip Order meetings just to avoid any risk."

"Don't you dare talk about Harry like that!" Snape roared and now he was truly the vicious wizard Harry had known at Hogwarts.

"Don't you dare," he hissed again and spittle flew from his mouth. "You know nothing about him! You know nothing about his life, nor mine! But you have a responsibility towards him and I won't let you forget it!"

"Sod off!" Harry hissed back; he barely controlled his urge to shout. "You are most certainly not my lover, don't tell me what to do! You're nothing to me, d'you hear? Nothing!"

"Fine," Snape said, "I see." His chest heaved and he wiped his mouth. "_Accio_ wand!" he said and it flew into his palm; there was a spiteful gleam in his eyes.

"Well, Mr Potter," he said mockingly, "I wish you all the best, travelling 150 miles without a wand or access to the floo network. The next wizarding community is in York; good luck."

"Fuck you!" Harry spat bitterly and was quite satisfied to slam the door behind him on his way out.

* * *

"Fuck," Severus whispered into the sudden silence of the room, "Fuck."

He knew that there were two responsible and mature courses of action to take in this particular situation: He could either follow Harry before the man really got himself killed, or he could retreat to the kitchen, pretend not to sulk and pursue his research on how to get rid of the aggravating arse.

Severus chose the sensible option number three instead: He summoned the bottle of Firewhisky and a pack of cigarettes he'd managed not to open for over two years and proceeded to chainsmoke while drinking himself into oblivion.

He shouldn't have lost his temper like that. Flying into a snit had been one of his worst problems at school and one of the reasons James and Sirius had enjoyed provocating him, or so Remus had told him later. He'd learned to reign in his emotions, if not in his last two years at school then at university: Him being openly gay was already pissing off enough people, and even he couldn't afford to alienate everybody.

But sometimes – like today – he just lost it, and with good reason this time, too.

It was hard, looking at Harry. Looking at his lover: Seeing the familiar face, the familiar gestures and mimics, but in reality having a stranger stand in front of him. Because that's what he was: a stranger in a painfully familiar body, one who'd attacked him on first sight and caused him more agony than Severus cared to recall.

This Harry was full of determination and bitterness. It was probably true that he was more magically skilled than Severus' lover, more serious about the war. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, just like Neville did.

Still…

Severus tossed back his tumbler of whisky, stubbed out his cigarette in a saucer and immediately lit a new one.

He was sure that Harry would come back in due time; he couldn't get anywhere on sheer stubbornness after all.

Severus hoped he'd find a way for the bowl to work again, and soon. His only desire right now was to hold his lover in his arms and retreat to the bedroom with him for the rest of the day.

* * *

"My God, you stink," someone leaning over him said disgustedly.

Severus opened his eyes and croaked.

"D'you have a hangover potion about here somewhere? Or know an anti-fumigation charm? Merlin, you could cure meat in here," Harry waved his hand in the air which bore the smell of too much alcohol and cigarettes.

"Shut up," Severus rasped, "My head hurts."

"Yeah, and you deserve it," Harry said snidely. Spying Severus' wand on the table, Harry picked it up and spelled the room clean. He was still glaring at him, but Severus was much too occupied by his throbbing headache to care.

"_Accio_…hm…_accio_ potion!" Harry winced when something crashed in the kitchen but caught the vial that was flying through the room and held it out to Severus.

"What is that?" Severus clutched his head.

"My God, man, I know you aren't the Potions master I know and despise, but didn't you use to be brilliant at Potions, annotating your textbook or something like that? It's a draught against headaches."

Severus tried to glare at Harry, but the effect was rather ruined because anything more than squinting was still much too painful. He downed the contents of the vial in one gulp.

"That was twenty five years ago and before I discovered Muggle medicine that actually tastes neutral."

"Three cheers for Aspirin, eh?"

"How late is it?"

"Ten in the morning on a bright and beautiful Monday," Harry said cheerfully, "I've already been firecalled by one irate Oliver Wood. He asked me why I didn't show up for practice. I told him my lover was sick and that I would take good care of you."

Now that Severus could actually see properly again he got a look at Harry and gasped. "What the hell happened to you?"

Harry's robes were stained with muddy dirt, torn in places. His hair was an absolute mess, leaves and twigs sticking out of it and his face was scratched bloody, as were his hands.

"Well," Harry said contemplatively, "I was rather angry, as you might remember – or not, depending on how many brain cells you managed to drown in alcohol last night. I actually made it to the village, realised what a miserable little place it was, turned around… and got lost. Night fell, it was all very gothic, you know. I decided to sleep outside and try again the next morning. And here I am!" He grinned but became serious again a moment later.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly, "About what I said yesterday. It was… erm, uncalled for."

"Apology accepted." Severus sighed. "And I'm… Well."

"Don't bother, it's fine. D'you mind if I shower first?"

Severus shook his head and listened to the soft sounds Harry made in the bathroom: the toilet flushing, the spray of the shower, Harry brushing his teeth. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For a moment it was enough to simply lie there and pretend: Harry would come down, clad in only a towel, and he'd slowly seduce Severus. They would laze away the day together, only crawling out of bed to get some food.

He got up and cleaned away the mess he'd made the night before. Although his headache was gone thanks to the potion his throat was sore and scratchy and would likely remain so for the next few hours.

After fixing breakfast for him and Harry and taking his turn in the bathroom, Severus finally said, over a cup of coffee, to the man sitting across him, "I really am sorry. I lost my temper. It won't happen again."

Harry put down his own cup and stared at him out of Severus' lover's big, green eyes. "Just when I decided not to like you, you go and say something like that. It's almost enough to make me understand why I'd be together with you, if I fancied blokes."

"Are you sure you don't?" Severus asked cautiously. This was dangerous territory with most men and he'd seen and felt firsthand how volatile Harry could be.

"About me fancying blokes? Yeah, pretty sure." Harry shrugged. "I've only ever dated one girl proper like, though, and Ginny, she, er…"

"Broke up with you?" Severus suggested.

"Died."

"I'm sorry," he said automatically.

"You don't need to be. It's fine; we'd ended things before… you know." Harry stared morosely at his plate and Severus felt the urge to change the topic, to distract him from the memories he was obviously reliving.

"I'm going to Germany tomorrow," he said. Harry looked up. "To Nuremberg. I have high hopes of finding the original construction plans there and once I've translated those…"

"You get your lover back," Harry finished for him. "Should I come with you?"

Severus shook his head. "It would be better if you attended Quidditch practice. You're notorious for how serious you are about your training. It won't do to arouse too much suspicion."

"All right. Listen, Severus…" Harry took a deep breath. "I know you don't want me to go, and I don't really want to either, but I have to open Slytherin's tomb."

Seeing the other man's thunderous expression he hastened to add, "It's not… I'm not doing it for the kicks or because I'm some sort of adrenaline junkie. But I'm going back soon, and I won't know what the Order's going to find in there and I have to know. I think Voldemort might be hiding a horcrux there."

"A horcrux?" Severus started. "How do you… Ah. Albus Dumbledore told you about them?"

"Before he died, yes. D'you know how they work?"

"I am an expert on magical objects, Harry. This is what I do for a living; of course I know how horcruxes work. Although that knowledge is not easy to come by: There's a single living expert on this particular topic in the world, and he's living like a hermit in the woods of Albania."

"So you know about Voldemort's horcruxes?" Harry pressed.

"Albus Dumbledore told me, yes."

"And how to destroy them?"

"There isn't a general way to destroy horcruxes. It depends on the individual object. Each one would have to be examined carefully before anybody could attempt to destroy it. An attempt gone awry could have distastrous consequences.

"All right," Severus said suddenly, "We'll go there together. Against my better judgement, I will come with you."

"Thank you!"

The smile Harry bestowed on him almost made the whole venture worth it.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_This is here:_

"Hey," Harry said tiredly as he entered the room.

Hermione took one look at him and burst into tears.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked Ron.

"What's wrong with her?" Ron repeated incredulously, "Are you… Have you gone barmy? You disappear for a day, presumably in search of the murdering bastard himself and you ask why Hermione's crying?"

"I'm not crying," Hermione sobbed. She loudly blew her nose and wiped at her eyes.

"You were worried about me," Harry stated; it came out as a question.

"Where have you been?" demanded Hermione, "We couldn't find you. We tried everything!"

"I didn't want to be found," Harry said, "I went to look for Severus."

"Judging by the fact that you're still alive I'd say that venture was unsuccessful?" Ron asked.

"Oh, no, no I did find him all right." Harry sat down and yawned. "Say, has my counterpart ever entertained the notion that Severus might still be on your side?"

_This isn't:_

"May I remind you again that I have strong objections against this little… adventure of yours?"

"Yeah, you only told me about a million times," Harry grumbled.

He was kneeling in front of the grave stone again. Touching the snake gently he saw that it moved its head to look at him. It seemed to observe him out out of curious eyes.

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, "_Open up_!"

The snake suddenly reared its head; more of its body was freed from the confines of the stone and became three-dimensional.

"_You can speak my master's language,_" it hissed softly. "_Are you one of his heirs_?"

"_In a manner of speaking_," Harry hedged and it seemed impossible but he could have sworn that the snake glared suspiciously at him.

"_Yes, I am descended from Salazar Slytherin, your master_," he lied firmly.

"_Very well_," the snake hissed and the earth beneath Harry and Severus began to shake. Severus gripped Harry's shoulder while remaining alert for any sign of Dementors.

Slowly the stone began to move aside and revealed a narrow staircase that was lit by small golden globes which flickered slightly.

"Globes filled with Gubraithian fire," Severus breathed, "Amazing."

"Whatever," Harry muttered as he made to descend the stairs, "D'you want to come with me?"

"I think it'll be better if I stay here in case the Dementers come back. You could take this with you, however."

Severus handed Harry a Muggle picture camera. "Take some photos. There shouldn't be charms against that sort of thing down there. Be careful."

"You are a very strange wizard sometimes," Harry commented, pocketing the camera.

"Some would say – and do say – that I'm not a proper one."

"That's rubbish. You've got magic, haven't you?"

Harry gave a mocking little bow. "See you later."

He went down the staircase, feeling Severus' gaze rest on him until he'd disappeared completely from sight. After about thirty steps he reached a chamber, about twenty feet in diameter with an improbably high wall; it was probably enlarged by wizard space. The room was completely made out of stone. Harry, thinking back to the Chamber of Secrets, shuddered slightly.

In the middle of the chamber stood a sarcophagus, also made out of stone. It was rather short and very plain – not at all what Harry had expected the grave of a powerful wizard like Salazar Slytherin to be like.

There was no inscription whatsoever, no images or engravings telling of Slytherin's great deeds.

On top of the sarcophagus, however, stood a golden cup with two delicately wrought handles.

Harry's breathing quickened; it couldn't be that easy, surely?

Nevertheless, nothing happened when he approached the cup and he picked it up gingerly to examine it more closely. It seemed to be very old indeed; and there was a small badger engraved on it which Harry traced reverently. This was Hufflepuff's cup… One of Voldemort's horcruxes.

Just then a shout rang out, sounding oddly muffled to his ears: "Harry!"

It was Severus. Grabbing the cup firmly in his left hand, Harry took out his own useless wand and sprinted up the stairs. The other wizard was surrounded by approaching Dementors. Although he'd incanted the Patronus charm his Patronus had not assumed a definited shape or form: Silver vapour clung to some of the Dementors which drove them back but wasn't enough to fight them off entirely.

When they perceived Harry the Dementors started closing in on him as well; he took a deep breath, recalled his first view of Hogwarts as an eleven years old boy and incanted "_Expecto Patronum_!" Silvery light fizzed from his wand and it grew warm in his hand; Harry shook it in frustration.

"Stupid, bloody, useless unicorn hair," he breathed, then yelled, "Severus, I need your wand!"

All he received in response was a snarl and then a pained moan. Through the cold mist that envelopped him completely now Harry could see that Severus was kneeling down, trying to fend off his attackers with no success.

And then the screaming in his mind started; darkness grew at the edges of Harry's vision and he fought to keep his eyes open, to stay conscious. He stumbled back and nearly fell into the still open staircase. Nonetheless, he lost his balance and dropped the cup he was holding.

_Never mind that now_, he told himself and bit his lip. The Dementors were coming closer, some of them pulling their hoods down. Their rattling breath sounded loudly in the air and Harry could feel their excitement at the prospect of a proper meal that would assuage their hunger for souls.

The darkness was growing now. Harry rolled over, coughed and found Severus' hand which he grasped. He groped for the other wizard's wand but his consciousness was slipping away rapidly. His mother's screaming grew louder and louder; he whimpered. He felt the Dementors hovering over them and his mind slipped into a narrow black tunnel.

The first thing Harry saw upon opening his eyes was Severus' pale face, tight with worry.

"You're alive," he whispered, clutching Harry's arms and drawing him into a desperate embrace, "You're alive."

"Yeah," he whispered, sucking in a harsh breath.

"Harry," the other wizard moaned and pressed a kiss against his lips. Harry drew back in shock but Severus didn't release him. He only held him tighter against his chest and Harry let him. He could feel Severus' heart beat, could almost hear the quick and erratic thump against his own skin.

"I'm sorry," Severus breathed, "I…"

"Don't," Harry said softly, "Don't."

His lips were still tingling from the swift kiss and a part of Harry's mind begged him to acknowledge that he'd just been kissed by another bloke, for goodness' sake, and could he please start to hyperventilate anytime soon now?

But Severus' arms were warm, reassuring in their firmness as they dispelled his memories of the Dementors' coldness invading his heart.

"What happened?" he murmured against Severus' heavy robes, "I thought I'd die for sure… Or at least get kissed."

"You just did," the other man remarked drily and Harry released a choked laugh.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes. Yes, I do. Look for yourself."

Severus helped Harry to get up and Harry realized that the small hill around them was covered by dark pieces of cloth. With a jolt he recognized these to be Dementors' cloaks. A stench of foulness and dead things was emanating from them; he sneezed.

"Where are they?" he demanded.

"Your theory of Voldemort hiding a horcrux in this tomb proved to be correct," Severus said, "This was Hufflepuff's cup, I presume?"

He held up the golden cup. Its shine was matted now; it seemed dirty and even older than before. The engraved badger was gone, leaving a blackened spot in its place and both handles were broken off.

Harry nodded.

"My… theory, if you will, is that the Dementors could feel Voldemort's soul in there – potential food for them. When you said that there wasn't a wizarding soul in this area you were not entirely correct, Harry. The Dementors wanted to feed off this piece of soul and so they congregated here, trying in vain to actually reach it."

"But aren't they attracted to happy emotions?"

"You assumed that Voldemort wasn't happy when he created this," Severus explained gently, "But he most certainly was. After all, by creating this he'd just made a further step towards immortality. So, when you brought the cup they concentrated on this one object – perhaps because they'd been focusing on it for so long. Now, this is my guess, but I think that such an actively evil soul proved too much for them."

"They died?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes. Dementors can be killed, though it is very hard to do so. When dying they simply disappear… Leaving those behind." Severus pointed towards the cloaks.

"We were bloody lucky then."

"Indeed."

"And Voldemort's another horcrux down… At least here."

Harry sagged against Severus and yawned.

"Can you wait here for a moment? I'd like to go down myself now that danger has passed and take some pictures. The opportunity may never present itself again."

"Sure," Harry muttered, "Whatever."

Once they were back at Snape's house Harry gorged himself on chocolate until he felt fit to burst. He contemplated the cup now sitting on the kitchen table under a powerful containment spell.

"You know," he said to Severus, "I thought it would be more spectacular. The whole thing. I mean, destroying Gaunt's ring cost my Dumbledore his hand and getting to Slytherin's locket damn near killed him."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Nearly being kissed by Dementors wasn't spectacular enough for you?"

"That wasn't Voldemort's doing though," Harry pointed out.

"True. You must realise that Parselmouths are extremely rare. Voldemort thinks himself to be the only one left alive with this particular skill, so why waste magic on further precautions? As to destroying a horcrux, it is very difficult – we were merely lucky that those Dementors were starved. Else they would have realised their mistake and left a piece of soul created by an act of murder well enough alone."

"Who d'you think he killed for this?" Harry asked and prodded the containment spell with his finger. The spell lit up as a blue cylinder around the cup and he received a light electric shock as a warning.

"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask Albus Dumbledore. He is likely to know since he makes it his business to know everything about his former student."

"It's strange to think of Voldemort as an adolescent with spots and a breaking voice."

Severus smirked. "Perhaps you should. Ridiculing people lessens their power of frightening us. Boggarts go a long way of showing that."

Harry spent the rest of the day dozing and looking up words for Severus in an enormous dictionary; the older wizard was having trouble translating a transcript. It was a dialogue in prison between an Auror and the original owner of the bowl. He'd been one of Grindelwald's most trusted servants as well as passing as a high-ranking SS officer. Harry read – with growing horror – about the atrocities this wizard had comitted against the Jewish community of wizards and witches. In the transcript the man listed them with very little regret but obvious relish.

"But what… Why does it matter which religion a wizards belongs to?" Harry asked Severus in dismay, "I thought Grindelwald was all about the purity of blood?"

Severus sighed. "It's complicated. Back then even Muggles believed that the Jews were inferior to their own race."

He sneered. "Utter rubbish, of course, but the German wizarding community was caught up in this nonsense. The Jewish wizarding community was small. It didn't use wands but relied on techniques they'd learned from their forbears. This system was heavily based on the secret and powerful combination of numbers. In fact, our modern Arithmancy is also derived from their sources. Being able to work magic without wands has always frightened people, it still does. It was a convenient excuse to imprison them in concentration camps, to torture their knowledge out of them before killing them."

"That's…" Harry swallowed. "That's sick. I didn't know that."

"It happened after Professor Binns' death," Severus remarked, "Therefore it's not considered history and not on his syllabus."

Harry glanced at the clock hanging next to a large poster full of colourful fruit. While the poster was a magical one – it showed the fruit ripening until they shrilly demanded to be eaten – the clock was purely Muggle and actually told the real time.

"It's nearly time for the Order meeting," he said tiredly, "Listen, can you go without me? I'd rather not face Sirius again and I'll be rubbish at explaining the whole horcrux thing anyway."

"What shall your excuse be this time?" Severus demanded and counted of his fingers, "Let's see, you've been ill, injured, indisposed because of scheduling conflicts… We can't have any old relative of yours dying, your mother would know better."

"Just tell them I've been knocked on my arse by Dementors, 's part of the truth, anyway."

"Very well." Severus got up and levitated Hufflepuff's cup carefully in front of him. "I shall see you later."

He patted Harry's shoulder on his way out and Harry touched the spot where the other man's hand had rested for only a moment. It felt strangely warm to him, long after Severus had left.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_This is here:_

"We should go to Diagon Alley tomorrow," Hermione said carefully, "See if they have anything in the library about the bowl. Perhaps I could contact Headmistress McGonagall and ask her about access to the Hogwarts library. Their collection is so much better than any public one I've ever seen..."

"I thought I'm dead?" Harry asked spitefully.

"But _we_ aren't, mate," Ron answered calmly, "You could come along under the invisibility cloak, I suppose."

"Have you thought about what I've told you?" Harry's voice shook.

"Listen, I do think it very surprising that Snape let you go - "

"He killed Peter Pettigrew!" Harry said heatedly, "He wrecked his own house to make it appear like I'd done it! He made me cast those curses on him - "

"And I'm sure he had very good reasons for that," interrupted Hermione, "Still, fact is that he killed Professor Dumbledore. I looked it up, Harry – you must really want to see somebody dead, otherwise the Killing Curse won't work."

"And you – well, the other you – said that old Snape looked really hateful on that tower," Ron added.

"But my location spell - "

"I know you want to believe that Snape's not really on Voldemort's side." Hermione patted Harry's arm; he jerked it away roughly and the young woman flinched.

"However," she resumed briskly, "there's ample evidence that - "

In that moment Fawkes appeared in the room in a spectacular burst of flames. The phoenix trilled as he saw them, dropping one of his feathers as well as a folded piece of parchment before making a fiery exit.

"What the hell," Ron muttered. He picked up the parchment and unfolded it. Scanning it quickly he swore under his breath.

"Ron?" Hermione prompted.

"You should read this," he said. His fingers trembled as he held it out to them. Harry immediately recognised his lover's untidy scrawl. The message was short and rather cryptic: _To retrieve an object of great value, come to Borgin & Burkes tomorrow at 10 am. Be punctual. SS._

_This isn't:_

Severus was already gone when Harry woke up in the morning. Besides a pot of some infusiion tasting of strawberry – charmed to stay warm for a couple of hours – he'd left him a note with specific instructions of how to floo to the training pitch of Puddlemere United and warning him not ot do anything foolish.

It was with a feeling of dread that Harry stepped out of the fireplace into a rectangular room. Opposite the fireplace was a front desk currently occupied by a welcomewitch who fiddled with a quill while chatting amiably to Oliver Wood.

Harry cleared his throat.

"There you are!" Oliver said, turning around. "Wait a sec.

Anyway, Miranda, I'll simply _have_ to check out your new boyfriend, see if he's any good – not that I'd steal him from you, that would be bad form, wouldn't it?"

He gave the giggling witch a kiss on both cheeks, drawled a "See you later, then," and Harry wondered if Oliver had always been this camp. Surely he'd have noticed if his team captain had been flamboyantly gay? Then again, he'd been fourteen years old when he'd last seen Oliver – and he might be straight in his world, just like Harry himself was.

"Now, Harry, where have you been? Severus being sick, what an utterly ridiculous excuse, it's never kept you off your broom before!"

Oliver drew him into a swift hug which Harry returned uncertainly, not knowing what the etiquette concerning two blokes who'd at some point in the past slept together was.

"Er, you know..." he hedged and Oliver smiled knowingly while dragging him into the lift.

"Do I ever. You don't have to tell me, you'll have to explain it soon enough to coach Villandry."

Oliver's wicked grin caused Harry's heart to plummet – what had he got himself into?

Luckily for him he could just follow Oliver into the changing room, copying the other man's routine in getting changed and fetching their brooms. Harry's broom, it turned out, had his name engraved on it in large sliver letters and was to all appearances the latest Nimbus model. He caressed it reverently: Nimbus Racing Broom Company had stopped producing shortly after the outbreak of the war. There was no point trying to sell racing brooms with the Quiddithc League being cancelled and most parents too frightened to let their offspring out to fly.

Having put on the blue training robes, Harry grunted a sruly greeting to his fellow team members; at least he hoped that they were indeed his fellow team members. Some of them he knew from newspaper articles in the sports section or he'd heard Ron mentioning them. Ron was the only one still reading the sports section in the _Daily Prophet_; it was his shot at gving normal life a sporting chance, he said.

The coach – Villywhisp Villandry – was a very small, very slim wizard in his late forties and Harry guessed that he must have played seeker in his days, too. After quizzing Harry on his whereabouts and the flimsy excuse he'd presented yesterday - "_I don't care if You-Know-Who is standing in your lounge dancing the dying swan in a pink tutu, Potter, that's still no excuse to skip training!"_ - with Harry doing lots of eloquent shrugging, he sent them off to run ten laps around the Quidditch pitch.

While Harry panted and gasped for breath at the very end of th queue, a dark-skinned witch fell into step besides him. _Anastasia Jones_, Harry's memory supplied, _Gwenog Jones' cousin and her fiercest rival._

"How're you doing?" she asked cheerfully, not bothered by the murderous pace at all.

"Not... so... bad," Harry panted, wishing he'd stayed in bed after all, cover of normality be damned. They'd never run laps while he was playing Quidditch for Gryffindor and they'd done fine, so why start now?

"He doesn't mean it, you know," Anastasia was saying now. Harry threw her a puzzled look and tripped, nearly bumping into the wizard before him.

"Coach Villandry," she clarified, "Gives him a sense of normality, yelling at people for not showing up. 'S not like you particularly want to swoop around on a broom when people are too scared of You-Know-Who to come to the matches."

"No talking!" the coach bellowed in just that moment and the witch winked at Harry before joining other team mates in front of them.

Harry didn't like the running; however, he'd always thought himself physically fit but apart from escaping from Dudley and his bullying he'd never done anything related to fitness apart from flying. He fully expected to drop dead from exhaustion after the ten laps were over, but his body was seemingly used to this sort of thing: Once he found out how to breathe properly the run became almost enjoyable.

After stretching exercises and another ten laps aruond the pitch, this time on broom, the real training began. Coach Vilandry released not one, but three snitches and it was Harry's taks to catch them all in under fifteen minutes.

"And mind you don't break their wings like you did last time!" the coach shouted from the stands.

This was the least of his worries, however. Harry didn't manage to catch a single snitch: instead he almost broke his neck while diving for one. He hadn't sat on a broom for ages and this one – faster but also more capricious than his old Firebolt – was a model he wasn't used to at all.

Harry coughed and sat up from where he'd landed in the thankfully soft grass which was probably spelled by a permanent cushioning charm. His team mates were pretending not to notice that anything was amiss but he thought he could hear them sniggering quietly amongst themselves.

"Fuck," he hissed, "Bloody fucking hell!"

"You all right, Potter?" Coach Villandry turned up next to him, kneeling down. "That was quite spectacular. I've never seen you fall off your broom before."

"You don't say," Harry snapped, more furious at himself than anything else. Falling off his broom like a green second year player on a Hogwarts house team! He'd known beforehand that he couldn't ever be as good as the other Harry – he'd never seriously considered a career as a professional Quidditch player whereas the other man had dedicated the last several years to being the best seeker England had ever had – but still... this was beyond humiliating.

"Well then," the other wizard said briskly, helping him to stand up, "Nothing appears to be broken, so off you go."

_At least I didn't all of again,_ Harry thought glumly as he stood under the shower later.

That was the best thing to be said about training though. He'd caught two snitches in the time the coach had set him and got shouted at for his most disappointing work and lack of dedication. He'd had to take barbs and snide grins from his team mates during lunch and he'd fallen asleep in the strategy session that followed. Which meant that he couldn't even try and pretend to know what was going on in the ensuing practical session, earning him another earful from Coach Villandry and more than one friendly cuff in the changing rooms afterwards.

"Harry!" Sirius greeted him joyfully when Harry finally made his way to the front lobby to floo home.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at his godfather: If he'd always looked healthy and handsome in this world, he looked absolutely stunning now. Dressed in dark blue wizard robes that reached his knees, revealing blue jeans and dragonhide boots underneath he was the poster boy for pureblood wizards comfortable with the Muggle world. The long hair tied in a ponytail reminded Harry of Bill Weasley, just as the rakish grin did – no trace of the Dementor attack two days before was visible.

His godfather was accompanied by a man slightly younger than him, but even taller than Sirius himself was. He was every inch the respecable wizard: dressed in dark green robes and keeping his brown hair long and untied he exuded a sombre, less exuberant air than Sirius. His face, however, was very handsome with just the hint of a beard. Harry looked at both of them and realised that this had to be Regulus Black – Sirius' brother.

"Hello," he greeted both of them cautiously. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder whereas Regulus clasped both of his hands in a firm grip and inclined his head.

"I'm pleased to meet you again, Harry," he said softly and smiled.

"I was just visiting my little brother today and he mentioned that he hadn't seen you in ages," Sirius said loudly, "So I thought I'd organise a little get-together, eh? Maybe we could go to the Leaky Cauldron – or Hogsmeade, whatever you prefer – to catch up. What d'you say, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry said helplessly, quite at a loss of how to deal with his suddenly amiable godfather, "I don't mind where we're going really."

Dragging both Harry and his brother into the fireplace, Sirius winked at the blushing welcomewitch before disappearing into the flames.

The place the floo network spit them out was Grimmauld Place.

Harry looked around him in amazement. All the changes that Molly Weasley and Hermione had wrought had made him forget that this had been the home of dark wizards. While the hosue had never become a cheery place in his world it had been transformed into something neutral, at least. Ron, Hermione, Remus and him had used Grimmauld Place as their hiding place of choice after Dumbledore's death. They'd done their first research on horcruxes there, destroyed the first one they'd found in the huge kitchen: a chess piece of Ravenclaw's original set, wrought in delicate silver and found by them in the woods of Albania. The king, of course.

Still, this house had become unsafe after they were discovered and Harry – to all eyes of the wizarding world – disappeared, seemingly killed in a skirmish with Death Eater in this very sitting room. The four of them had been sharing a very ordinary, very inconspicuous Muggle flat in London for the last few months.

Nevertheless, this version of Grimmauld Place was still clearly inhabited, most probably by Regulus who crossed the room in long strides, poured himself a drink from the cabinet and downed it in one gulp.

"I'm sorry we had to jump you like that, Harry," he said, vanishing the glass with a flick of his wand, "But our actions were dictated by necessity."

"What Reg is trying to say," Sirius interrupted, "is that Voldemort wants - "

"Don't say his name!" Regulus hissed furiously, "I've told you a dozen times - !"

Harry was vividly reminded of Snape and himself in quite a similar situation several years ago.

Sirius shrugged.

"The Dark Lord," Regulus began without any sign of irony, "more or less ordered me to try and recruit you, Harry, to his most noble cause."

"What? Why?" Harry blurted, slightly panicked. So Regulus was indeed a Death Eater; one who had apparently not got cold feet like his dead counterpart.

"You are... interesting to him. You're a popular Quidditch player and quite a competent wizard if you want to be, you're living together with one of the most renowed experts on magical objects in Great Britain, especially dark objects. Severus has resisted the lure of the Dark Lord for years now, going so far as to disappear into the Muggle World during the first war. He thinks you could be an asset to our – to his – cause."

"And you're telling me this why?"

"I know you'd never consent to become a Death Eater, not after what happened to your father. Telling my lord this however would entail some painful consequences so at least I'll have to be seen making some effort."

"Which means," Sirius took over, "that getting pissed together at the Leaky Cauldron would be a very good idea. Everybody will see you there, including some of Reg's acquaintances. And I'll buy you a couple of drinks because of that thing on Sunday. What d'you say?"

"I don't know..." Harry said slowly, "Won't he be angry if you fail?"

"Not as angry as he'd be if I didn't try at all," Regulus replied, "I know that we haven't always got along very well -," Sirius snorted and Regulus glared at him, "and that Sirius has been a complete prat to you for the last two years - "

"Hey!" the other man objected.

" - but I'd really be quite grateful, Harry. You could regard it as a bit of extracurricular work for the Order, helping me keep my cover."

"All right, all right," Harry said, "Shall we go then?"

Despite Harry's exhaustion from training, his frustration at having messed up in general and his complete ignorance regarding Regulus Black it proved to be a rather enjoyable evening. Sirius bought all the rounds and the world didn't look so gloomy after his second pint. The older man was apparently attempting reconciliation with his estranged godson, triggered by necessity and Hary having saved his life. Whatever the reason, Harry welcomed this development, tired of hearing slurs against Severus and himself.

It was Regulus who did most of the talking: speaking about everything and nothing in particular, conversation flowed easily. The older wizard didn't resemble his brother so much as a richer, more arrogant version of Remus Lupin. He didn't smile very often and when he did it did not reach his eyes, but he was not the bitter, twisted man that Snape in his role as a spy had been.

Harry himself tried to avoid personal topics, fearful of making mistakes or revealing something. His efforts were mostly successful, except that Regulus frowned at him from time to time.

As Sirius got up to get another round of drinks the older wizard clasped one of Harry's hands: the touch was much too intimate for Harry, implying too many things at once and he prevented himself from snatching it back with difficulty.

"Harry," Regulus said softly, "I'm really sorry for all of this. I know you've done your best to avoid me and now this... You have to know, if there'd been any other way -"

"It's fine," Harry interrupted hastily, hoping desperately that Sirius would hurry up and come back. He wasn't drunk enough by half to contemplate the ramifications this new tidbit of conversation revealed. Regulus' hand felt very warm, almost hot, his light blue eyes staring unflinchingly at him. He seemed to be waiting for an answer – or a kind of absolution – that Harry couldn't give.

"Really, it's for the greater good, isn't it?" Harry ground out lamely, seeing Sirius coming back towards their table.

Quickly draining his new pint, pleading tiredness and wanting to see Severus, Harry said his goodbyes and stumbled into the nearest floo home.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_This is here:_

"I still think this is a very bad idea," Ron muttered as the three of them crouched under Harry's rather too small invisibility cloak in front of Borgin & Burkes. "You know why? Because Snape told us to do it."

"Shut it, Ron," Harry hissed, "It'll be fine."

"Famous last words," Ron retorted without missing a beat.

Hermione jabbed both of them in the ribs and made shushing noises. It was in that moment that Draco Malfoy chose to make his appearance in Knockturn Alley.

Harry swallowed; he hadn't seen Draco since the young man had killed Ron and Hermione in a fit of insanity during their leaving feast. Since then Draco had done his best to become one of Voldemort's most valued Death Eaters as well as Regulus' sometimes lover. Harry didn't know what hurt more: that Draco had turned him down with claims of complete heterosexuality or that he was now sleeping with Regulus on a semi-regular basis.

Drawing their wands, they observed Draco enter Borgin & Burkes only to leave some minutes later, looking smug and pocketing a small brown parcel.

"What d'you reckon, should we attack him?" Ron asked.

"Hell, yes," Harry hissed, furiousness suddenly uncoiling in his stomach. He threw off the cloak.

"Oi, Malfoy!" he called out, noticing the other wizard's shock with glee. "Been shopping, eh?"

_This isn't:_

"Home come everyone here is gay?" Harry burst out furiously, plopping down on the sofa and glaring at Severus who was dozing in the armchair. The older wizard opened his eyes, surprised.

"I mean, why? Oliver Wood is a raging pouf, drawling every second word and having a very strange relationship with his broomstick," Harry ranted, "You are – whatever, I've always preferred to think of you as completely asexual because the alternative would simply be too disturbing. And I've apparently shagged my way through half of Hogwarts like some queer Casanova and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse Regulus Black starts holding my hand! Granted, he should be dead, but - "

"Regulus Black held your – I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, now completely awake and alert.

Harry quickly told him about their meeting and the ensuing pub visit. Then something occurred to him: "How was Germany by the way? Did you find out anything?"

Severus nodded and pointed towards a large stack of papers on the table.

"Those are copies I made of the original documents. I'll tell you later, it's nothing that would enable you to get back right this very instant."

"Oh," Harry said, looking down. He was slowly getting really homesick. It was exhausting, stumbling through a world that was painfully familiar and annoyingly strange at the same time, like being forced to act in a play without knowing the script.

"As to Regulus Black, you've always been fascinated by him, as a child and later at school," Severus explained, "He was the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts for a year – against his will, I might add, Lucius Malfoy more or less forced him to do it. It was the only year you never missed a single lesson in that subject; that was in your sixth year. Shortly before your birthday you slept with him -"

Harry gave a short but heartfelt groan.

" - which was not very advisable. You were still underage. He was... well, he disappeared for a while. When you joined the Order and found out that Regulus was a spy for Dumbledore... I didn't know you personally then, but you told me you fell apart. In a way, Regulus was your first real love, and he knows it, too. I suppose that Voldemort had knowledge of this whole affair, hence his trying to recruit you through Regulus."

"Does Sirius, does my mum know about this?" Harry asked.

Releasing a short bark of laughter, Severus shook his head, "God, no! Your godfather would murder you both."

"Hilarious," Harry sighed and sprawled a bit more on the couch. His body was slowly catching up with the fact that he'd been sitting on a broom for a better part of the day. He was tired, exhausted after too much training and subsequent alcohol.

"So how do I normally behave around him?"

"Like a moonstruck calf," Severus answered promptly. At Harry's indignant look he elaborated, "You blush, you stutter, you fiddle with your wand... He was probably gob smacked tonight to find out that you indeed speak in coherent sentences."

"And that doesn't make you jealous?"

Severus shrugged. "What am I supposed to do? I got you in the end, didn't I? No use crying over spilt potion, and you can't help it that you fell in love with Regulus Black the moment you laid eyes on him."

Harry yawned widely and stretched. "'M sorry," he mumbled, "Training did me in. Do I have to go again tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid so. What I found out... well..." the other man trailed off.

Sitting up straight, Harry was now alert, detecting disappointment and frustration in Severus' face.

"What's that supposed to mean, 'well'?" he asked suspiciously, "What did you find out today?"

"The bowl, the one I have here with me, is a prototype, Harry," Severus explained, "It was still being developed when Albus Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. As such it's a bit finicky – you can't choose which dimension you end up in, just as there is no way that would allow you to control it. There's no charm you can mutter to switch places because the workings of the bowl are based on statistics and probability."

Severus got up and fetched the object in question from where he'd kept it in the kitchen. Pointing at the shadows in its depths he said, "These shadows are flashes of other dimensions, Harry. If I were to look directly into the bowl now, and if one of my countless counterparts were to do the same – at exactly the same moment in time – we'd switch places. The possibility of that ever happening is miniscule."

"And it happened to me," Harry said, "Figures."

Clearing his throat, Severus continued, "You have to realise that every magic has its price. This bowl is one of the most magical objects in existence today. Magic this powerful requires a sacrifice of some sort: In this case it gains all its magical energy from chances missed, from when people look into it without anything happening. The amount of energy it takes is tiny but this bowl here has been storing energy from wizards and witches for sixty years now."

"And now comes the point where you tell me I can't get back?" Harry asked, "You realise, of course, that if this is the case I'll go insane, become terribly depressed and will drown myself in the bath tub."

Severus shook his head. "Of course you can get back; you and my Harry merely have to look into the bowl at the same time... and _voilà_."

"Didn't you just tell me that the chances of that are tiny?"

"Yes, I did. The possibility of this ever happening again are about as great as you winning the Muggle lottery each week for a year."

Harry sucked in a harsh breath and dipped a finger into the cool water of the bowl; the images were distorted now, even more unclear than before.

"But I could just spend the next couple of days staring into it. Your Harry's bound to look in it sometime, right?"

"It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid." Severus pulled a sheet of paper out of the stack of copies before him and showed it to Harry. The sheet was filled with rows and rows of numbers and letters, as well as runes. The runes changed their shape from time to time, becoming something else entirely. To Harry's horror he recognised this pattern: these runes were a topic of NEWT level Arithmancy and beyond, and Hermione had used them to narrow down possible locations for horcruxes. She'd tried to explain the basics to Harry and Ron, but Harry couldn't even read or write runes, let alone work with them, manipulating the equations into something that made sense.

"Runes of variability," he croaked, "Merlin."

"So you know what this means," Severus said, "Excellent. Then you'll surely appreciate the fact that the actions of actually deciding to look into the bowl, starting to look into it, etc., are just as important as seeing the images."

"I'll never get back, won't I?" Harry asked dejectedly.

"You could always cheat, Harry," Severus said. "It will be difficult, illegal and stretch the fabric of space and time but it is not impossible."

Harry smiled slightly, taking of his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his robes. Putting them back on he squinted at the other man with green eyes that were trusting and not quite as empty of hope as they had been just a moment before.

Severus summoned a piece of parchment and a ballpoint pen. He drew a straight line, explaining as he did so, "You can consider this to be the flow of time... No, every time one makes a choice this line splits -" he demonstrated this, "and two different dimensions are created, the flow goes on until the next event and it splits again..."

He drew more lines until the whole thing resembled a tree. "Sometime in the past our two respective realities split. Before that, however, they were one and the same. Now, if you had a time turner and travelled back before this split occurred, taking the bowl with you, and my Harry did the same you would in fact meet each other. Looking into the bowl at the same time would not be a problem then and the change could take place."

"You do realise," Harry said slowly, "That this is one of the most rubbish plans I've ever heard of."

"It does create several problems, yes. Obtaining a time turner powerful enough to jump back several years, not to mention the danger of ripping the space-time fabric apart when you two meet. And we don't know when the split took place. All problems that can be solved with a bit of work."

"A bit of work," Harry repeated, "A bit of work? I mean, where do we even start?"

Severus glanced at the clock. "I suggest we start by going to bed. Finding out where our dimensions separated is definitely high on the list. I know of a potion that could help with that."

"Finally!" Harry snorted and got up, "Finally you mention the p-word. I was starting to think that you don't have anything in common with my Snape except the name and the nose."

Severus' eyebrows rose. "Why, thank you for the compliment. I'll wait for you after training and we'll go to Diagon Alley together to buy the ingredients if that's amenable to you."

"Sure," Harry said, "Good night, Snape."

"Good night... Harry Potter."

Despite being exhausted from a day spent flooing international distances and polishing up his rusty German to make himself understood, Severus couldn't sleep. The bed was by turns too cold or too warm; opening the window only made things worse as the sounds of the night were now added to the creaks his old cottage full of magic made.

The space beside him was achingly empty. Harry's pillow was fluffed up and gleamed white in the moonlight.

Severus missed his lover and he supposed that this was the real reason for his insomnia. He missed Harry, the mess he made of the bedroom each and every single day. He missed the soft and even breathing – interrupted by the occasional snore – next to him at night and the disgustingly cheerful "Good morning!" Harry was used to calling out of the bathroom.

Of course Severus was used to living alone, sleeping alone: he'd done so for years before Harry had moved in and his lover was often gone for weeks, playing matches abroad.

Still, this was different. This was not sentimentality, a reminiscing smile made possible by the certainty that his lover would be back in some days. This was gnawing and growing pain, a slight jolt each time looked at Harry and saw no fond recognition in his eyes.

Severus huffed and got out of bed, pulling a tee shirt over his head. Softly entering the guest room he sat down in the chair facing the bed and contemplated this other Harry's still form.

_This is ridiculous, _he told himself, _Watching him sleep like some lovesick witch!_

And therein lay the problem: He was lovesick. He'd never told Harry that he loved him, just as Harry himself had used that particular verb exclusively in conjunction with Regulus Black.

What they had was comfortable, in a way. It was a relationship, it offered security, at least for Severus. Harry was a companion, and that was a blessing in itself because he'd always had a way of alienating everybody around him. He'd fully expected to live his life alone, surrounded by odd magical trinkets, the monotony of his days only interrupted by the occasional visit from Remus Lupin.

Sometimes he asked himself what Harry got out of this little arrangement: A place to live, a not overly attractive lover and the ire of nearly all of his family and friends. Harry was handsome, popular – he could have anybody. Yet he'd chosen Severus, despite the love and hurt that flickered over his face whenever the topic of Regulus Black came up.

When this other Harry had mentioned Regulus today, told him about their meeting, Severus' heart had started to beat more quickly, jealousy worming its way through his throat. He knew that Harry had loved Regulus, adored him – he'd seen pictures of Harry during that summer when Black had disappeared. The boy had looked miserable, like some darkness had touched him – and in a way, it had.

Nowadays Harry avoided the other wizard at all costs. He skipped Order meetings because of him, not because he didn't want to see Sirius or his mother. If they did meet Harry was achingly polite, never touching Regulus, never letting his eyes rest on him. When Harry had found out – Regulus had reported it during an Order meeting, his method of gathering information, he'd said – that he was sleeping with Draco Malfoy, he'd sat completely still, not reacting until they'd got home to his flat. There the young man had proceeded to break every single glass in the house through accidental magic. All of his photo albums and books had burst into flame, but Harry himself hadn't uttered a word, only staring at the floor.

He'd moved in with Severus a week after that.

Severus had never talked to Harry about this particular incident again but it had been the first – and so far only – time when he'd been afraid of his lover.

Today's meeting would have devastated him, Severus was sure of it. As the man in the bed moaned softly and turned around, the blanket now a tangled mess between his legs, he was absurdly glad that this Harry, strange and sarcastic as he might be, had never got to know Regulus Black. He hadn't even been aware of what the other man should mean to him.

Thinking back to Harry's question, "And that doesn't make you jealous?", Severus clenched his fists.

Of course it made him jealous.

Showing that jealousy would make him lose Harry, however, and that was something he was not prepared to risk.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_This is here:_

Holding the locket by its heavy silver chain Harry watched it spin around slowly, dully reflecting the light from different angles. He snapped his gum lazily.

"That was a bit anticlimactic, don't you think?" he commented to Ron and Hermione.

"Anticlimactic?" Hermione asked archly. "I wouldn't necessarily say so. You nearly blew our cover, we were lucky nobody saw you in Knockturn Alley."

"Did you see Malfoy's face?" Ron asked dreamily, "I'll treasure his expression for years to come. And obliviating the last week out of him and then dumping him into the fountain at the Ministry – pure stroke of genius, that was."

"Malfoy's an arse," Harry said, "In both worlds. So, what now?"

Hermione opened an enormous notebook in front of her and crossed something off a list.

"I think we should contact Remus Lupin," she said, "He can help us to destroy the horcrux – the idea that Ravenclaw's king had to be beaten in an ordinary chess game came from him. And I can concentrate on how to get you back, Harry."

"Remus!" Harry's eyes lit up. "He's always nagging me about something or other, but he's quite nice. I had a terrible crush on him during my third year at Hogwarts."

"Unrequited, I hope," Ron grumbled, but he grinned as he said it.

_This isn't:_

The next day Quidditch training for Harry was even worse than the day before, if such a thing was possible.

He did not fall off his broom again, but the had to bear the others' good-natured taunts; and Coach Villandry was watching him like a hawk, aware that his seekers's skills were not up to scratch. One of their reserve beaters was called away in the middle of the strategy session: Death Eaters had attacked her parents' house last night, leaving her mother dead and her father tortured to insanity by _Cruciatus_.

Harry was quite subdued and in a sombre mood as he went to meet Severus later that afternoon, feeling guiltily glad to leave training and his team mates behind. Seeing his supposed lover waiting for him gave him an absurd sense of security for a moment; covertly studying Severus' face, Harry felt the attraction of a regular day-to-day life that he'd never had after school, reassuring in its mundaness.

Stepping into Diagon Alley, Harry smiled: There was a storm coming, surely, and he did have to get back to his world – he wanted to see his friends again. He fiercely missed Hermione's earnest face and Ron's freckled nose scrunching up in concentration. But there was no reason why he couldn't enjoy the brief respite from his duties here. He could accept this gift, this glimpse and taste of an ordinary life and savour it without feeling guilty.

"Do you have anything you want to buy here?" Severus asked him and Harry shook his head. "I've done the grocery shopping but I thought we could eat out after buying the ingredients. I don't feel like cooking with the prospect of spending the rest of the evening bent over a cauldron anyway."

"Sounds fine," Harry said, "Muggle or wizard restaurant?"

"Muggle, I think."

The apothecary in Diagon Alley smelled like old cabbage, a smell that Harry remembered from the few times when he'd had to stock up his potions kit before the start of another school year. Since then he hadn't done anything potions-related except to drink the occasional bottle of Pepper Up. He left Severus to wander around the shelves; quickly growing bored of slimy things in jars, Harry stepped out of the shop and bumped into Molly Weasley – and her daughter, Ginny, who were just about to enter the apothecary.

"Harry!" Molly greeted him, "So nice to meet you here, we missed you on Monday, how are you?"

"Fine, thank you Mrs Weasley," Harry stammered; but all of his attention was taken up by Ginny. He drunk in the sight of her: wearing dark brown robes and her hair tied in a messy bun she looked prettier than ever. Her freckles stood out on her pale skin and she was worrying her bottom lip in a way that was achingly familiar to Harry.

He'd ended things with Ginny in his world when he'd left school after his sixth year, although there had been a heated argument between the two of them a month later, concluding with them spending the following day and night in bed. The intense feeling this memory harboured for Harry still hadn't faded three years later, being kept alive by Ginny's premature death at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

The three of them – Ron, Hermione and Harry – had just returned from Albania, flush with finding their first horcrux when Bellatrix had presented them with Ginny's lifeless body in her arms. She had dragged the dead girl through the sitting room in a grotesque waltz that had wakened a deep kind of fury in him that Harry hadn't even know he possessed. The subsequent fight had left Grimmauld Place in shambles and Bellatrix dead. This was also when Harry had chosen to disappear from the wizarding world. He'd rather be presumed dead than endanger any more people who were dear to him.

Bellatrix had been the first and so far only person Harry had killed – but seeing Ginny now, vibrant and full of life he could not, would not, feel any remorse.

He'd do it again in a heartbeat.

"Ginny and I are looking for ingredients for Bill's Wolfsbane Potion," Molly had lowered her tone. "The transformations are always hard for him, but buying the potion costs a fortune and Ginny's got quite good at making it, haven't you, dear?"

Ginny shrugged and grimaced, looking bored and Harry was disconcerted to see her complete disregard for him. But then of course he'd never rescued her from a Basilisk, he wasn't famous nor her brother's best friend – and he wasn't supposed to be interested in girls, anyway.

"Are you here with Severus?" Molly was asking now and Harry, tearing his eyes away from the young with, nodded.

"Just buying some stuff inside," he explained, "To make a, um, potion."

"Well, that's nice to hear," Ginny said suddenly, "But we really should be going, Mum. See you later Harry," she called over her shoulder, dragging her mother into the apothecary.

Harry stared after them, contemplating whether to go back inside so he could watch her for a little while longer. Instead he sat down on the stairs, burying his face in his hands.

Despite his shock at seeing his ex girlfriend, dinner with Severus proved to be a relaxing affair. The Muggle restaurant the other man had chosen was an Italian restaurant, low-key for London, with decent background music and reasonable prices. They didn't talk much but the silence between them wasn't an uncomfortable one. Harry had more or less grown used to this mellow version of Severus Snape; it was only when the light shone oddly on his face, casting long shadows on it that he reminded him of his former teacher and a frisson of helplessness and hate swept through him.

They Apparated home and Severus set out to transform the kitchen into a temporary Potions laboratory.

"What, no hidden dungeons full of bubbling cauldrons?" Harry teased as Severus struggled with transforming the kitchen table into something that would be fire-proof. The other man growled in response and prodded his wand at the table, turning it black in the process.

"Bugger," muttered Severus and gave up. "Are you any good at these spells?"

"Not part of your curriculum, I'm afraid. Just put the cauldron on, I happen to know an excellent watering charm for flowers that'll work just as well if something goes up in flames.

Putting the cauldron over a makeshift fireplace and laying out the ingredients, this Severus should have reminded Harry of his teacher – strangely enough this was not the case. Instead it became clear that the wizard before him was not somebody who dealt with potions on a regular basis; his clumsy movements betrayed his unfamiliarity.

"Bloody potions," Severus was now hissing, "I wish we could have just bought this one."

"Why not?" Harry asked, "What's it do anyway?"

"Once we have narrowed down the time frame of the split to 24 hours we take the potion to determine the exact point in time. And it requires bloods of fresh blood, our blood – if you don't make it fresh it coagulates."

Severus lit the fire and began slicing some roots.

"Pour a litre of water into the cauldron and let it boil, please," he instructed Harry. For a while they worked companionably next to each other, letting their blood drop into the water and cutting up ingredients. The potion didn't look too difficult to Harry's admittedly untrained eyes, except that you had to be extremely careful during the stirring process.

"Why didn't you become a Potions master?" he asked Severus, "Didn't you like the subject at school?"

Severus shrugged and gradually added a whole rat's tail – chopped – to the bubbling mixture. The potion gave a loud burp and turned magenta.

"I liked it, yes, but it was more of a hobby at the time, something to amuse myself with, and I something I could use to impress my peers. Dedicating my whole life to potions had never been one of my plans – and I wanted to leave the wizarding world after school finished, at least for a while."

"Because Voldemort tried to recruit you?" Harry pressed.

Severus flinched, stopped a moment in his stirring, stared.

Harry dived under the table just in time as the potion exploded rather spectacularly from the cauldron, giving off loud burping noises as it did so and covering the whole kitchen in magenta-coloured, sticky goo.

Peering over the rim of the table Harry nearly burst out laughing: there stood Severus, shielding his face with one arm, and still holding the ladle. Apart from that, he was magenta from head to toe. Potion dripped from his arm, landing on the floor in soft plops.

He couldn't help himself: he giggled.

"So you think this is funny?" Snape asked sourly.

"No," Harry denied through snorts of laughter.

"Nevertheless you're laughing at me," the other man pointed out.

"I'm not laughing at you," Harry gasped, the humour of the situation fully catching up with him now, "I'm laughing with you!"

Severus contemplated Harry for a few moments before scooping up a handful of botched potion out of the cauldron, aiming carefully and throwing the whole thing square into Harry's face.

Spluttering, trying to breathe through his suddenly blocked nose Harry wiped at his eyes and clutched at his sides with laughter. Severus joined in and for a moment Harry felt perfectly happy, the feeling untinged by simmering anger or the ever present impatience of getting back home.

The rest of the week passed in a rather peaceful manner, all things considered. Severus made Harry attend Quidditch practise every day and no amount of grumbling or pretending to be fatally ill helped with that. Harry did his best to blend in and raise as little attention as possible to his deplorable skills on a broom. Oliver Wood mock-flirted with him like there was no tomorrow and he learned not to blush when someone made a lewd comment about brooms. He took Coach Villandry's in stride and even managed to catch the Snitch sometimes.

In the evenings Harry watched Severus fail at getting the potion – the _Potion Précisante_ as he'd been informed in a dreadfully accented French – right. There was more than one spectacular explosion until the kitchen resembled a small-scale, purplish battle field and Harry started buying take-away for both of them every day. When they weren't mopping up whatever mess the day had brought they were wracking their brains of when the split in dimensions could have occurred. They needed the exact day for the potion to work, something that proved difficult.

"Did the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin? I mean, my personal development here is completely different..."

"Contrary to popular belief, being sorted into Slytherin does not make one gay, Harry."

They bickered; they argued. Harry shouted that this was taking too bloody long and that the other Harry could have messed up everything by now. Severus shouted back that there wasn't a lot to muss up if his whole dimension was inhabited by dunderheads like him. Nevertheless, both of them finally agreed that the split must have happened shortly after Severus had left school at the latest. In his dimension Snape had likely become a Death Eater then whereas here Snape had put his wand in a Gringotts vault and left.

"But what about Voldemort choosing Neville instead of me?"

Severus shrugged; he certainly hadn't been a member of the Order of the Phoenix at that time and could only offer to ask Albus Dumbledore at the next meeting.

"But I know nothing about your school time, let alone some small details of what may have happened Merlin-knows-when to split dimensions!"

There was nothing for it however; they had to find the exact day – that was their only hope. Otherwise Harry couldn't use the Time Turner with enough precision and the could only assume that Hermione and Ron were figuring out the same thing because he was stuck here otherwise.

"To think of it, they could need years to figure it out – you could be an old man already, losing years in the transition," Severus remarked snidely one evening.

"Same thing here," Harry shot back without missing a beat, "You should be more friendly to me – you could be stuck with me for the rest of your life!"

On Friday Regulus Black had managed to pester Harry into another meeting, this time in a small wizarding restaurant in Diagon Alley and Harry went, albeit reluctantly. He knew that he should act in a suitably awkward manner, feeling flattered and pissed off at the same time, but the only thing he felt was a sort of vague confusion. Regulus was a stranger to him, certainly a fascinating wizard, but still a stranger

_Why is it always me_, Harry though gloomily,_ Last week I was worried about finding horcruxes and not getting myself killed and this week it's all about playing Quidditch and homosexual lovers._

Harry hadn't had any other girlfriends after Ginny, his only company being Ron, Hermione and Remus. After a childhood spent at the Dursleys', an adolescence spent at a boarding school and two years living in hiding his social skills were almost certainly lacking and they left him completely unequipped to deal with former lovers flirting shamelessly with one over the main course.

Because Regulus Black was flirting with him and as soon as Harry realised that he began to grow increasingly uncomfortable, dropping forks and knives and spilling his wine.

"Stop it," he finally hissed over the table, "I know this is necessary for your 'work' and all but You-Know-Who surely didn't tell you to seduce me!"

"Are you so sure of that, Harry?" Regulus whispered back and smiled widely as Harry blushed.

"I really did miss you, you know," he continued, "Leaving you behind wasn't easy for me. I felt your pain; I wasn't unaffected myself."

"You found comfort in Malfoy's bed, it can't have been too bad," Harry snapped back and was appalled to hear that he sounded like a jealous lover. He was even more taken aback by the fact that he really was angry with Regulus, angry at being left by this man.

"Oh, Harry," Regulus' eyes glittered, "It's complicated, more complicated than you might think. On the other hand, what am I to say about your relationship with Severus? Moving in with a former Slytherin nearly my age, one that you knew my brother and I would despise... It gives a man ideas."

"Fuck you!" Harry spat and his voice cracked, "I don't care about _this_ and I don't care about you – go and tell _Voldemort _that I'm a member of the Order and that he can go stuff himself, I don't care!"

Throwing his napkin on his plate Harry was quite grateful to see the older wizard stunned by his outburst before he stormed out of the restaurant.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_This is here:_

"You do realise that this whole story is quite incredible, yes?" Remus asked, clutching his tea cup as if it were a life line.

Harry nodded; Hermione glared at Ron who was absent-mindedly fiddling with Slytherin's Locket. She finally snatched it away from him with a determined air and placed it carefully in the middle of the table.

"But you believe us, right?" Harry asked.

Remus shrugged after a moment's hesitation. "I see no reason why you should lie to me. Although this spells trouble and sleepless nights. Not only do we have to bring you back to your own dimension, Harry, but there's also the implications of Severus' actions to consider... It seems we have been wrong about him yet again."

"D'you really think he's on our side though?" Ron asked.

"I don't know. I think by this point he's on nobody's side but his own."

_This isn't:_

Harry did not mention any particulars of his dinner with Regulus to Severus because that would have meant analysing his own feelings on the matter too deeply. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder why the other Harry was together with Severus. It was true that the man wasn't the nasty bastard of his own reality but the fact remained that he was not, and would never be, an attractive or popular man. His personality here was acceptable, Harry supposed, especially considering the alternative.

Still, did the other Harry really like or even love him? Or was this whole relationship more a way of getting one up on Regulus Black? He couldn't ask Severus; Harry wasn't that heartless and asking anybody else seemed out of the question. Perhaps his mother or Sirius would know, but he hadn't seen either of them in a week and it would betray too much to satisfy his own curiosity.

Instead he concentrated on trying to find the right day, even though he grew more and more frustrated by their endeavours; and Severus still hadn't managed to get the potion right.

"This is rubbish," Harry said gloomily, watching the other man dump another cauldron of botched potion into the bin, "At this rate you'll be broke from buying the ingredients and I an old man."

"I was thinking," Severus said, "that it was perhaps not the smartest idea for me to brew the potion myself, seeing as it is my blood which it reacts with at the very beginning. Perhaps we should let somebody else brew it."

"Like who?"

"I was thinking of Remus."

"I thought you wanted to keep this whole thing secret?"

"I don't want the majority of the Order to know," Severus corrected, casting a quick _Scourgify _on the whole kitchen, "It would be incredibly distracting at this point in time and so far they couldn't have been of any help anyway. If you really want to tell people, Harry, I won't keep you from it. But Remus is a very good friend – I trust him."

* * *

"Remus, I'm glad you could come," Severus said, welcoming his friend at the door and helping him take off his coat, "I know that you must be tired after a Full Moon." 

"It's quite all right!" Remus said cheerfully and Harry did indeed detect a hint of tiredness in his voice, "I wasn't feeling well enough to Apparate so I took the Knight Bus instead. But I should be fine if you don't expect any daring feats of wizardry from me today."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "How about we start with a cup of tea? Severus and I, we've got something to tell you."

"You're not pregnant, Harry?" Remus asked and smirked as the other man coughed and spluttered.

Once Harry had recovered his breath he wheezed, "Please, please tell me that that's not actually possible!"

"Don't worry," Severus answered, "There's only one recorded case of male pregnancy and that account was written by a wizard who also believed that his wand talked to him and that the Moon was made out of cheese. No, Remus, this is actually serious – why don't we sit down?"

Remus looked curiously at the assorted mess in the kitchen; there were still a lot of books – now stacked on the floor; the table was still pitch black from Severus' faulty transfiguration and the cauldron sitting on it was covered in sticky goo which was also distributed randomly throughout the whole room, covering the water kettle and curtains.

Severus thrust a steaming cup at him which the werewolf eyed cautiously.

"I do hope that the contents were not taken out of this cauldron, Severus," he commented mildly, "It would be a shame if you decided to poison me after all this time."

Severus snorted, sat down and stared expectantly at Harry. Harry flushed and said, "The thing is, Remus... What we wanted to tell you is that I'm – well, I'm not from here."

"I know that, Harry," Remus said, puzzled, "You're from Kent."

"Not like that, I'm afraid," Harry muttered, "Do you remember what Severus said about that bowl during the Order meeting last Monday?"

Once he'd begun, telling Remus about the whole affair became easy for Harry; Remus was a good listener. For the most part he sat still, occasionally sipping from his cup; he expressed shock as also incredulousness but his questions also showed understanding and compassion. Harry felt at ease with the other wizard, also because there didn't seem to be much difference between this Remus and his friend at home.

"So you want me to brew this potion for you?" Remus asked and Severus nodded.

"You were decent enough at Potions at school, you took the subject up to NEWT level."

"Only because Severus made me take it," Remus explained, turning to Harry, "There was no-one else who he wanted to partner with and at least my presence kept James and Sirius from murdering him behind his back."

Harry, suddenly remembering the incidence he'd witnessed in Snape's Pensieve and also Remus' passivity in it, frowned but didn't comment. He watched as Remus and Severus magically cleaned up the kitchen; he listened to their gentle banter as Remus cut up the ingredients and he noted that the two men touched each other often, swift, light touches that spoke of trust and a long friendship.

"How did you two become friends?" Harry asked suddenly, "Because in my world you can't stand each other. Were you – you know – lovers or something?"

"Goodness, no!" Remus released a bark of laughter, "I'm straight, Harry."

"Not to mention the fact that dear Nymphadora would kill me retrospectively for corrupting her boyfriend, I'm sure," Severus added, "We didn't become friends until... what was it, end of fifth year?"

"How could I forget," the other wizard agreed, pouring water into the cauldron and lighting a fire under it, "I was friends with James, Sirius and Peter Pettigrew – don't know if you remember him, Harry, he emigrated years ago – back then and we, well..."

"Played pranks on me," Severus finished the sentence for him, "I did of course fight back, but one day they took the game a bit too far, attacking me without provocation. They used _Impedimenta_, I think."

Harry sat up straight at once, a prickling feeling running down his spine.

"And I finally gathered what little courage I had and interfered," Remus said, oblivious to Harry's paling face, "Severus was far from grateful – quite the opposite, in fact! - but from that moment on I was an outcast in my dormitory and with time we drifted towards each other and became friends."

A puff of smoke rose up from the cauldron and the three men coughed. Remus finally added the last ingredient, half an ounce of fairy wings, to the concoction and the smoke vanished with a suddenness that was startling.

"Voilà!" Remus said, peering into the cauldron, "It's quite finished now, I think."

"Thank you. Now all we need is to find the right day, perform the spell..." Severus trailed off.

"About that," Harry said, mouth dry, "I think I have an idea."

"I don't think this is such a great idea, Harry," Severus said a bit later, eyeing the younger man nervously, "The last time you used _Legilimency_ – well..."

Harry and Remus sat facing each other, clasping hands. They had no Pensieve that could be used to view the memory of that crucial moment, and Harry had proposed using Legilimency, avoiding Severus' glare at the mentioning of that word. Remus, ignorant of what had happened between the two of them, had blithely agreed to let Harry do it.

"But last time you weren't exactly willing," Harry replied, "And I was unfocused and angry – I wanted to cause you pain. I promise I won't hurt Remus, and you can always interfere if you think something's going wrong."

Severus acquiesced, albeit reluctantly, and stepped back.

Harry took a deep breath and stared at Remus' and his joined hands. Using Legilimency like this – to view a specific, coherent memory – was much harder than to just breeze through a person's mind. It required more concentration, for one, as well as more magic. Whereas watching a memory in a Pensieve presented you with a neutral memory – an event that had already happened that way – a retrieved memory via Legilimency was more unreliable: It was tainted by its owner's feelings and emotions, it changed with time until all that remained of the original event were its most vivid colours, sounds and the emotions connected with it.

Harry had to find the actual memory in Remus' mind though, and for that he needed to delve deeply into the other wizard's subconsciousness.

"_Legilimens,"_ Harry breathed, and the search began.

He knew what he was looking for, after all: Remus' comment about coming to Severus' help had immediately reminded him of the memory he'd watched in Snape's Pensieve so many years ago. He still remembered it vividly; it had allowed him an all too brief glimpse into his parents' lives, but at the same time it had shattered his naïve illusions about his father as well as the rest of the Marauders.

Of course, it had really been Lily who had rescued Snape back then, but... And there it was: The memory emerged like from a dense fog and Harry thought he heard Remus gasp quietly; James' voice was speaking, very softly at first, but then growing louder and louder; an image of him as a fifteen year old boy becoming clear for Harry to see at the same time:

"_This'll liven you up, Padfoot," James said quietly, "Look who it is..."_

_Sirius' head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit._

"_Excellent," he said softly, "_Snivellus_."_

_Harry turned to see what Sirius was looking at. Snape was standing up from where he'd been sitting under some bushes, and was stowing some papers in his bag. As he left the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up._

_Remus and Wormtail – Harry couldn't help a slight spike of anger at seeing him there – remained sitting: Remus was staring down at a book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eye brows; Wormtail was looking from Sirius to James to Snape with a look of anticipation on his face._

"_All right, Snivellus?" James said loudly._

_Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, "_Expelliarmus!"

_Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter._

"Impedimenta!" _he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet halfway through a dive towards his own fallen wand._

_Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had got to their feet and were edging nearer. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained._

_Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at some girls at the water's edge. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view._

"_How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said James and Harry remembered that this had been the day of an OWL exam, after the theoretical part._

"_I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."_

_Several people watching laughed. Wormtail sniggered shrilly while Harry noticed that Lupin had abandoned the pretence of reading his book, clenching his fists instead and staring unblinkingly at Sirius._

_Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was sill operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes._

"_You – wait," he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing, "you – wait!"_

"_Wait for what?" said Sirius coolly, "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"_

_Snape let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but with is wand ten feet away nothing happened._

"_Wash out your mouth," said James coldly, "_Scourgify_!"_

_Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him - _

"_Leave him ALONE!"_

_James and Sirius looked round; and their surprised faces matched Harry's expression perfectly, because it had not been his mother who had spoken out – it had been Remus Lupin, slowly getting up from the ground, his book falling forgotten into the grass._

"_Leave him alone," Remus repeated, more softly. Only now Harry noticed that he was a lot smaller than James and Sirus, and a lot slimmer as well._

"_What's wrong with you, Moony?" Sirius asked incredulously._

"_What's he done to you?" Remus asked right back, his face now white with fury; his voice was firm but his hands were shaking, either with anger or nerves._

"_And don't give me any flimsy excuses like the fact that he exists," the young werewolf now went on, "You've been taunting him since we all first boarded the train, don't you think it's quite enough now?"_

"_But, Remus," James spluttered._

"_Not 'buts'! It's my duty as a Prefect to put an end to this. 50 points from Gryffindor for harassing a fellow student."_

_And walking past a shocked James and Sirius, Remus gingerly picked up Snape's wand and held it out to the other boy who was now kneeling in the grass, staring at him out of fathomless black eyes._

Harry interrupted the spell by letting go of Remus' hands; he sat back and sucked in a harsh breath.

"Right," he said shakily, "I think this is it. I've found it."

Severus held out a glass of water to both him and Remus and sat down next to them.

"So what you mean to tell me is that all those differences between our dimensions hinge upon Remus finally growing a spine in fifth year at school?"

"Oi!" Remus objected with a smile.

"Apparently so," Harry shrugged, "I mean, we can just perform the spell over the the potion and if I'm wrong the worst that can happen is what – the potion won't work and probably blow up a bit."

* * *

Lying in bed that night, Harry was more than happy with the day's work: After they'd incorporated the date of the splitting day into the spell – with Severus ridiculing Harry's and Remus' deplorable Latin language skills at every point – the rest had been easy: The potion had turned a clear colour, lighting up the whole kitchen; and it had belched out a piece of parchment with the exact time that Remus had made the decision to interfere – or not to interfere, as had happened in Harry's dimension. 

He still couldn't quite believe that it was such a relatively small thing that had changed their respective dimensions: Remus standing up for Severus in front of the whole school had cost him the Marauders' friendship but gained him another; it had caused Severus not to become a Death Eater; the Potters were never killed because Peter had failed his end of year exams during sixth year without Remus' patient tutoring and had disappeared during his travels on the continent soon afterwards.

The implications of such a simple – such a small – decision were mind-boggling; and its direct consequences Harry could only really understand when thinking of Severus; the Severus Snape of this world.

Looking at him, he failed to detect any trace of the Snape he knew most of the time; it was only during their arguments that Severus' less pleasant side emerged: Him standing in front of Harry, looming over him with a pale face and spittle flying from his mouth, voice shrill and hissing insults – that was when he reminded Harry of his former teacher. Still, the intimidating effect was mostly ruined due to the fact that instead of long greasy strands Severus sported hair that was almost as messy as Harry's, and instead of billowing black robes he usually wore faded _Duran Duran_ tee shirts.

Now Harry heard the other man coming up the stairs, and he quickly slipped out of bed. Opening his door he whispered, "Severus?" and squinted as the tip of a wand was lit by a soft spell.

"Why didn't you turn on the light?" Harry asked.

Severus shrugged.

"So..." Harry said awkwardly, "This is good news, right? You'll get your lover back soon and I can go home."

"As soon as we've obtained a time turner powerful enough to go back more than 25 years. They're illegal, you know," Severus observed drily.

"Still..." Harry trailed off, "Aren't you glad?"

Severus stepped closer to him, lowering his hand, and his face was shrouded in darkness now, except for his eyes; they seemed to glitter in the darkness as they focused unflinchingly on him. Harry had to look up at Severus' face; the older wizard was now standing inches away from him, close enough for Harry to feel his warmth and to perceive his smell.

Severus smelled – male, was the only word Harry could find to describe it. Warmth, mixed with the scent of the kitchen and tea, the shampoo and aftershave he used, and his own unique scent. He'd certainly never thought about how other men smelled before – except to note that they'd sweated too much.

The older man was watching him intently, lifting a hand and lightly, ever so carefully, caressed Harry's face.

"Of course I'm glad," he then said abruptly, breaking the contact between them.

Harry was left standing in the darkness of the hallway, the click of the closing bedroom door still echoing in his ears – and feeling very, very confused.

_Parts of this chapter have been taken verbatim from 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix', pages 568 – 570 (UK edition)._


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_This is here:_

"Harry?" Remus asked as he entered the kitchen.

The young man barely glanced up from the cup of tea he was holding, merely nodding slightly.

"Water's still hot if you want some tea," Harry said in a low voice, and then, even more softly, "I couldn't sleep."

"Same here," Remus said cheerfully and sat down opposite the young wizard. "That's just as well since it's the Full Moon in a week and I'll get more sleep then than I'll ever want. Harry..."

"Yes?"

"In your world... In your reality... Am I a werewolf?"

Harry raised his head. "Yes, you are," he answered, adding, "I'm sorry. But you're happy, really, you are. You're engaged. You've got a job, and a house."

"Engaged," Remus repeated. "To whom?"

"Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks. D'you know her?"

Remus smiled, a bit sadly. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Ah."

Harry took a sip from his cup. "You're happy," he finally said. "At least I think you are. What about here? Are you happy?"

"To be honest, I haven't much thought about it," Remus admitted. "I try not to think about it; this life right now doesn't really lend itself to thoughts about... that."

"I can't stand it," Harry whispered roughly. "And it's not even my life. And I miss -" he interrupted himself and bit his lip.

"Harry?" the other man prompted.

"Severus. I miss Severus."

_This isn't:_

The next day was a Monday and that meant Quidditch practice for Harry – who was now more glad than ever he'd never even considered a career as a professional Quidditch player – and an Order meeting in the evening for Harry and Severus both.

Severus, Harry knew, would spend most of the day researching Time Turners and how they could go about obtaining one. The problem was not that it was impossible to manufacture extremely powerful Time Turners, as the older wizard had explained to Harry over breakfast; no, the problem was that the use of such magical devices was heavily restricted and Time Turners that went beyond 24 hours had been outlawed by the Ministry of Magic in 1823 following some very embarrassing incidents; the possible damage one could havoc with them had simply been considered as too great.

Still, it might be that some ancient wizarding families had kept their Time Turners – although illegally – because they were symbols of power and prestige. Severus thought that with enough research and checking of old Ministry records they could find one of those families and then persuade them to let Harry and Severus borrow it for a little while.

Needless to say that Harry had been a bit skeptical about Severus' plan; but as he himself did not have a better solution either he'd kept silent about his doubts. Added to that was the fact that he had been a bit preoccupied while mechanically drinking tea and munching on some toast. For the life of him Harry could not manage to push his late-night encounter with Severus in the hallway the day before out of his mind.

Harry thought about nothing else all day: Running laps around the Quidditch Pitch and he remembered the heat radiating off the other wizard; trading absent-minded jokes of quite a lewd nature with Oliver during lunch and he recalled with perfect clarity the low timbre of Severus' voice and the hesitation in it; standing in the shower after practice and Harry could think of nothing else but Severus' dark glittering eyes and the shadows dancing on his face.

He wasn't used to being distracted like that; and he'd never felt this strange inability to focus because of another person, least of all another man. With Ginny, well... Harry was sure that he'd never obsessed about her like that, and the only hint that clued him in on his feelings for her had been the insane jealousy that had sprung up whenever she'd been around other boys. Severus, on the other hand – then again, he wasn't interested in Severus like that, couldn't be interested in Severus like that. Severus already had a lover. _Yeah, yourself_, Harry's traitorous mind whispered – and the Snape from his own reality was still a nasty piece of work, not to mention that Severus Snape was still _undeniably male._

So did that make him gay now?

Furtively glancing at the other team players around him, Harry mustered their naked bodies one by one. He'd seen his share of naked boys at Hogwarts, of course, but perhaps he'd see things in a different light now? However, apart from noticing that Edward, one of Puddlemere's reserve beaters, had the Ravenclaw eagle tattooed on his right shoulder blade and that Oliver had a piercing in a place he'd rather not further contemplate, Harry found that these bodies – naked, toned bodies glistening with water he droplets from the shower – didn't do anything for him. At all. The memory of Severus' unflinching eyes, boring into his, on the other hand, sent a delicious shiver down Harry's spine.

_Perhaps it's possible to be obsessed with people without liking them _that_ way?_ he asked himself as he left the changing rooms, _Or you've just been here way too long and it's starting to interfere with your sanity; what's left of it anyway._

Severus was waiting in the lobby for him, looking sombre and disturbingly appealing. Harry mumbled a curt greeting and avoided his eyes as they Apparated to Godric's Hollow – he couldn't help but notice, however, that his hand was tingling from where the other wizard had gripped it during the Side-Along Apparation, and that his cheeks were burning.

Lowering his head to hide the blush Harry was sure he was currently sporting, he entered the house and hoped that this whole – _thing _would prove to be a temporary condition, over by the next day.

Harry greeted Remus and sat next to him at the table with a smile, suddenly feeling very relieved that there was one other person in the room who knew about this whole ordeal. Although he'd spent quite some time in this alternative reality by now Harry still didn't know how to act 'properly' around people sometimes, and he was constantly second-guessing himself. What would the other Harry have done in this situation? Over the past week he'd slowly grown used to his Quidditch team mates, even going so far as to banter with Oliver Wood, calling the girls 'love' and generally being more camp than he'd ever thought he could be.

This here was different, however: He'd met most of the Order members only once so far, and there was a wealth of history – especially with people like Neville or his mother – that Harry couldn't even begin to grasp.

Sitting quite at the end of the table Harry only now noticed that the seating seemed to follow some unofficial form of ranks within the Order: Neville, his father and Dumbledore were sat at the very end of the table, close to the lit fireplace. Then came Lily, Sirius – and Regulus Black, dressed resplendently in midnight blue robes. Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Emmeline Vance, the Weasleys... Some people Harry didn't know. Remus, Severus and Harry were seated nearest to the door, furthest away from Dumbledore and Neville; and while both men were chatting amiably to the Order members around them, Harry's and Severus' entrance into the room had gone largely unnoticed.

Largely – but not completely. Regulus was now rising gracefully from his chair, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder and whispering something into his ear before making his way over to them.

"How do you do, Harry, Severus?" he asked pleasantly and Harry couldn't prevent a flush spreading across his face.

"How do you do," Severus answered, achingly polite.

Harry, on the other hand, just nodded mutely, grimaced and grabbed Severus' hand. Severus squeezed back gently but his eyes never left Regulus' face as the other wizard inclined his head slightly, turned around and left.

"Did I miss something here?" asked Remus just as Dumbledore stood up to officially begin the meeting.

Harry spent most of his time observing the Order members he know from his own reality and trying to discern visible differences. He wasn't terribly successful in this in most cases: Tonks, for instance, looked just as vibrant and lively as he remembered her being, and Moody was the same old suspicious wizard as ever. Bill Weasley, on the other hand, lacked the disfiguring scars on his face – and hadn't Mrs Weasley said something about him needing Wolfsbane Potion that day in Diagon Alley?

His own mother also fascinated Harry, but not as much as he would have thought. Seeing Lily Potter alive was in many ways a revelation for him: Watching her speak and laugh, taking note of her mannerisms, the way she gesticulated with her hands as she spoke... Still, Harry felt strangely detached from her. She was his mother, true, but for the first time he became aware of the fact that his mother had been dead for the last nineteen years; he'd never known her, would never know her, and while Harry missed having a mother he could not miss this woman before him, Lily Potter.

She was a stranger to him.

"But why can't I take some of the shifts?" Neville's loud question interrupted Harry's musings. "I've got the time and what's more, I want to do it!"

"Neville," Frank Longbottom said sharply, "If you – training to become an Auror! - were detected loitering in front of the Department of Mysteries... Do you have any idea of the repercussions?"

"But I'm the bloody boy who lived!" the younger wizard argued and Harry flinched. "They'd never sack me!"

"We've been over this before," Lily interrupted, "And I don't think the situation has changed since then."

"Exactly," Sirius muttered.

"But -"

"Have you practised your Occlumency, boy?" Regulus drawled lazily and now Harry was all ears. He didn't even consciously notice that he was still holding Severus' hand, now gripping it tightly with anxiety. He knew this... He knew what this was about.

Neville flushed but nodded defiantly.

"Really?" Regulus persisted, "I can tell whether you're lying, remember."

"What's it to you?" Neville burst out angrily, "You're not teaching me anymore so it's none of your business!"

Harry, watching the whole exchange with wide eyes, was vividly reminded of himself and Snape several years ago, when Snape had tried to teach Occlumency to his younger self – in vain, of course. Occlumency required quite subtle magic; and if the one learning it wasn't truly motivated to do so then no amount of practice could create those skills. Harry himself had learned both – Occlumency and Legilimency – in record time on sheer determination alone during the endless summer after his sixth and final year at Hogwarts.

"Oh, but it is my business and what's more -"

Dumbledore interrupted the argument quietly but firmly. "I think that is quite enough now. Neville is right, we do have to guard the Department of Mysteries more closely – after all, there's all sorts of exciting things tucked away in there."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and Harry suddenly had a stroke of genius.

He stuck up his free hand. "I can take some of the shifts!"

Realisation that he'd probably sounded too enthusiastic to be completely in character came a bit too late. Everybody in the room was now staring at him; Dumbledore's glasses nearly slipped down his nose before he absent-mindedly pushed them up again with his long fingers.

Harry slowly lowered his hand and grinned weakly. "I don't mind really."

"I don't know," Severus said carefully, "Whether to laugh or to cry."

Harry shrugged; to be honest, he didn't know either.

They were standing in front of the large fireplace, waiting to floo home after the Order meeting had ended. Harry would be on guard duty next weekend during three consecutive nights, as decreed by an alarmingly cheerful Albus Dumbledore.

Noticing Severus' thunderous expression Harry quickly sought to pacify the other man. "I'm not doing this for fun, Severus," he said earnestly, "Or because I'm trying to be brave or something. No, I just remembered – last time I was in the Department of Mysteries there was this, well, 'time' room; I didn't really get to explore it properly but I'm pretty sure there was this huge case, full of Time Turners! If I'm on duty there it'd be easy to just nick one – it's the perfect opportunity!"

"You've been in the Department of Mysteries?" Severus asked with a raised eyebrow.

"In my fifth year. Listen, there's something else..."

Harry stopped abruptly as Lily approached the two of them, a smile on her face.

"Harry!" she said warmly and enveloped him in a warm hug, kissing him on both cheeks. Harry, quite at a loss how to deal with his mother who'd apparently decided to stop ignoring him, returned the embrace carefully. Severus, he noted, followed this exchange with an expression of puzzlement.

"Um, hi, mum," he mumbled.

Stepping back, Lily mustered Harry and said, "You've made me quite proud today! I'd never thought the day would come when you'd be ready to take on your responsibilities... But now, doing more work for the Order... Well done, Harry, well done."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, embarrassed.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to Sirius and Regulus. Regulus thinks that Voldemort might be calling him soon – but he reported that during the meeting, didn't he – Anyway, you should come over for dinner soon, I haven't talked to you properly for so long."

"Sure, why not," Harry said, now a bit desperate, "I'd love to."

"I'll floo you," Lily answered, embracing Harry again and still managing to completely ignore Severus standing next to them.

Watching the witch cross the room Harry and Severus stared at each other, mildly shell-shocked at the complete change in personality Lily seemed to have undergone.

"What the...?" Harry muttered.

"Ah, but that makes you happy, doesn't it, Potter?" a voice behind him said nastily; it belonged to Neville. " Getting your mum's recognition, the lost son returning into his family's loving embrace."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said in what he hoped was a friendly tone. He didn't understand Neville's hostility, and he had no desire to return it.

"Oh, don't act stupid, it doesn't suit you," the other man snapped and Harry – now that they were standing close to each other – noticed how tired he looked, how weary. Neville's gaunt face had struck him right from the beginning but he'd blamed that on only remembering his own Neville as a friendly albeit slightly pudgy boy. There were deep bags under his eyes now though, standing out darkly on the pale face, and the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead was swollen, an angry red colour.

"Neville -" Harry began and reached out to touch the other man's arm. Neville flinched at the short contact; Harry, however, couldn't suppress a short gasp of pain as a searing hotness shot through his head. For only a moment he felt it all: anger, dark and ugly anger, mixed with triumph and so much hate.

Clutching his forehead with both hands Harry leaned against Severus with his eyes closed. He took deep breaths to steady himself and focused on the older wizard stroking his back soothingly.

When Harry opened his eyes again Neville had gone.

"What happened there, Harry?" Severus asked as soon as they'd reached the sanctuary of their own home.

Harry sunk down on the couch and rubbed his forehead distractedly. "I don't really know," he said, "This whole evening has been a bit of a mess from start to finish. But I think we have to watch out for Neville; I believe that Voldemort is trying to take over his mind."

Severus startled violently and nearly dropped the bottle of Firewhisky he was holding.

"How can you be sure about that?"

"I... When I touched him I felt – hate. Absolute hate," Harry explained quietly, "I've only ever felt that way before when Voldemort was trying to control _me_. You see, I think I know what he's planning. He did the same thing to me and it worked! We have to prevent that. If I'm right then Neville is going to go to the Department of Mysteries quite soon – I can stop him if I'm on duty there. That's what I wanted to tell you before my mother interrupted us."

"Harry..." Severus said, "If you're right... This could lead to disaster. We should warn the Order about this."

"And would they believe us?" Harry asked. "After all I can't prove what I felt – I don't even know why I did! I don't have a curse scar here, I shouldn't have a connection to Voldemort at all."

"Ah, but you took your magical consciousness with you when you came here. Voldemort has marked you more profoundly than you realise. His magic is a part of yourself, and the scar is only the visible mark of that fact. You're still a Parselmouth here, are you not?"

Harry nodded reluctantly and accepted the tumbler of Firewhisky that Severus offered him.

"So, in a way, you are still the boy who lived. Considering the prophecy this could have interesting implications, especially taking the magical exclusion principle into account..."

"I don't care about theoretical magic," Harry said, sipping at his whisky, "I'm more interested in finally going where I belong. If I stop Neville from being killed by Death Eaters on the way that's fine by me."

Severus looked down at the glass he was holding in his hands, turning it around slowly."

"Of course," he said softly, "That is what it's all about."

And before Harry could react or protest he'd got up and left the room.

The next two days passed in slow motion for Harry, made longer by anticipation and awkwardness. He and Severus hadn't really talked about what had happened on Monday and the silence hung heavily between them. Then again, why should they talk? They were not a couple; they weren't even friends. And weren't men supposed to forego the whole 'wanting to talk' thing anyway? Hermione was quite fond of it, talking 'emotional issues' over as she called it. Remus sometimes did as well, but that was just because Remus was a proper adult and a bit like a surrogate father to the three of them.

Ron and Harry, on the other hand, had developed their own coping mechanism: Ignore stuff until it eventually went away on its own, or, if all else failed, get mildly pissed at a pub together.

Harry doubted that this method would work with Severus however, and so he kept silent, concentrating on Quidditch instead. Not that he was particularly interested in team strategy or catching snitches in record time, but it kept his body fit and Severus would get to enjoy his returned lover in a top physical condition.

Meals at home were a stilted affair, with Harry staring morosely at his plate and Severus burying his nose in random books propped up against the water jug. At night Harry would lie awake for hours, staring into the darkness and missing his friends.

He wondered what they were doing at the moment. Had they worked out the mechanism of the bowl yet? Or was Hermione still researching it? And Ron, how was he getting on with the other Harry? Would he accept him as a friend or hate him on sight? Remus, too – had he come back from his trip yet? It wasn't easy for the werewolf, working for the Order of the Phoenix all the while pretending that Harry was missing, presumed dead.

And Voldemort, had he made another move? Or, worse yet, noticed that something was amiss? Harry didn't know whether Voldemort believed him to be dead; he hoped so but couldn't be completely sure.

And how long would it take for the other Harry to make his way twenty-five years into the past, back to that summer day? Years could have passed and his body would have aged, losing him so much in the process.

Harry preferred not to dwell on this possibility; it scared him more than he cared to admit to himself.

Friday night would be the night of Harry's guarding shift; on Thursday Severus finally broke the oppressive silence between them during dinner by clearing his throat and saying softly, "Listen, I've got something for you."

"Oh?" Harry raised his head from the stew that he'd only been poking at.

"I don't know if it's going to be of much help, but here..."

With these words Severus summoned a piece of parchment, unfolding it before him on the kitchen table. He pushed it towards Harry who looked at it curiously.

"It's, er, a map," Severus explained, "of the interior of the Department of Mysteries."

Harry's head snapped up and he stared at the other man for a moment before his gaze dropped to the parchment again. And indeed it was a map, and now he saw spidery writing on it, denoting the turning chamber with its many doors, the prophecy room...

"Where on Earth did you get that?" he breathed, "It's not called the Department of Mysteries for nothing!"

Severus shrugged and pushed his plate away, food forgotten for now.

"I have my resources," he said quietly, "And I know you've been there before, but I though this might help to refresh your memory. You won't have much time once you break in there – I expect there'll be charms against that sort of thing all over the place – and if you get lost... Well."

Not that Harry was perusing the map more intently he saw that the Department of Mysteries was far bigger than he'd expected it to be. It was huge, really, and the rooms he'd seen five years ago were apparently mere antechambers to something much larger.

"Merlin, Severus," he muttered, "If the Ministry ever finds out that you have this it'll be a one-way ticket to Azkaban for sure. I don't know how to thank you for this. I can't thank you for this."

"Nevertheless you're welcome," Severus said. "I... My behaviour these past few days..."

But Harry shushed him with a motion of his hand and shook his head.

"Let's just forget about it, all right?"

He smiled tentatively and was relieved to see that Severus smiled back after a moment's hesitation, his mouth curving slightly and his dark eyes shining.

The next night Harry's shift started at midnight.

Getting into the Ministry for Magic at this time shouldn't be a problem; there would be nobody to staff the welcome desks and even the most zealous workaholic should have left for a well-deserved weekend by then. Harry was preparing to floo there but Severus kept him back.

"You shouldn't floo. The Ministry is keeping track of the floo register these days and you could be detected."

"But how -" Harry began and Severus held out his wand to him, the dark wood gleaming in the candle light.

"Take it," he ordered. Seeing Harry's dumbfounded expression something softened in the other wizard's face and Harry's stomach did a sudden flip-flop.

"You do need a wand, Harry. You need to be able to defend yourself properly."

"But -"

"You've borrowed it before, no?"

"That was different," Harry mumbled, not exactly sure _why_ it had been different. He hadn't liked Severus then, that was for sure. And he hadn't really cared about the other man's feelings. But now, using his wand suddenly became a thing of intimacy, something that he could hardly explain to himself.

"Take it," Severus repeated. "I can't come with you now and this way you can Apparate, leaving no trace of your coming and going."

Harry avoided Severus' eyes as he picked up the slender rod. A slight pulse of warmth seemed to emanate from it, comforting him with a trace of Severus' natural magic.

"Now, should anything happened, I do expect you to call me. Send your Patronus and I will come to you. Do you understand me?" Severus asked intently.

Harry nodded and swallowed thickly. He didn't know why, but this felt like the end of it – of what he didn't know, except that there was finality and the sadness inherent to it.

"Severus -" he began.

"You should go," the older wizard said briskly and the moment passed. Harry took a deep breath to centre himself and Apparated with a soft pop.

The lobby of the Ministry looked just like Harry remembered it, although it was now shrouded in darkness, the Fountain of Magical Brethren intact. No fight between Voldemort and Dumbledore had ever taken place here; this was not the building where his godfather had died five years ago.

The lift cage rattled loudly as it descended and Harry wished he'd remembered to cast a Silencing Charm. Then again, there was hopefully no-one left in the building to hear his noisy approach except the Order member he'd come to relieve.

Casting a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself, Harry stepped into the dark corridor and resisted casting _Lumos _as well. It felt good, doing magic again – he'd missed the conscious casting of spells and charms over the last few days. Flying on a broom and Occluding his mind was all very well, but nothing came close to the feeling of pure magic flowing through his body into his hand, wielding his wand like an extension of himself.

Arriving at the door that he still remembered from his dreams Harry whispered, "Hello?"

A moment later Frank Longbottom's head appeared in thin air, shortly followed by the rest of his body. He shouldn't have been able to see Harry – especially not in the half-darkness permeating the corridor – but he seemed to glare at him reproachfully nevertheless and Harry blushed.

"A little more sophistication if you please, Potter," he sniffed.

Harry cast the counter charm and became visible again; Mr Longbottom must have seen his puzzled expression because he suddenly sighed and shook his head.

"Never mind me, boy. Private joke between your father and me. Only you look so much like James – do excuse me, please."

"It's quite all right," Harry mumbled and accepted the invisibility cloak from the older man's hands.

"Good night and good luck then. I shall see you on Monday."

Harry wrapped himself in the cloak and sunk down on the floor, watching the other wizard disappear down the corridor. He settled himself in a more comfortable position; he'd decided to stick it out for an hour before actually entering the Department of Mysteries, to make sure that there really wouldn't be anybody left on this level by the time he'd finally enter the Department.

Time passed slowly in the darkness and the only thing Harry could hear was his own, even breathing. He was close, so close to getting home now... It seemed easy from here on: Get a Time Turner, get back to Severus' Yorkshire cottage and take the bowl with him when he would literally turn back time. And if ever the other Harry had figured out the same thing he would be there, waiting for him. They could look into their respective bowls simultaneously, use the Time Turners to get back to the future – and Harry would be home, where he belonged.

His friends would be waiting for him; and he'd be armed with the knowledge of the location of another horcrux, bringing them one step further on the road towards destroying Voldemort.

And then...

Harry hardly ever dared to dream about a time when he could be alive again, reclaim his place in the wizarding world. But suddenly he found the thought of living in a cottage just like Severus' quite appealing; and having an entirely mundane job might not be as exciting as being an Auror, but right now Harry nearly craved the repetitiveness that such a life might bring. In a way he envied the other Harry; he had that. He even had a partner to come home to at night, somebody to share a bed with. Even if that partner happened to be male – but that was something he would contemplate another day. Another world, even.

Harry shifted slightly and froze as a breeze wafted through the empty corridor.

Standing up, he lifted his wand and cocked his head. He hadn't heard anything, but that didn't mean that nobody was there – not everyone would forget their Silencing Charm like he had. Making a quick decision, he threw off the invisibility cloak, muttered, "_Lumos_" - and stared at the figure standing crouched against the opposite wall.

"Neville?" he asked. The other wizard was panting as if he'd just been running and he was holding his wand directly pointed at Harry. The look in his eyes was that of a scared animal, wide open and half-crazed.

"Let me through," Neville ordered in a surprisingly steady voice.

"Neville, what's wrong? Why are you here?"

Harry's thoughts raced as he tried to stall for time. He knew exactly why the young wizard had come to the Department of Mysteries tonight, although he didn't really want to contemplate the logical consequences. If Neville was here then that meant that Voldemort had succeeded in sending him fake visions – and it also mean that his Death Eaters were not far away.

Neville sneered. "Are you one of them, Potter? Did you help them capture my father? I should have know that something fishy was going on when you volunteered for those shifts... Are you a Death Eater?"

"No, you don't understand -" 

"Step away from the door!"

"Neville -"

"_Stupefy_!"

And that was the last thing Harry heard before unconsciousness took him in her black embrace.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

_This is here:_

"Have you got everything, Hermione?" Ron asked, two bags slung over his shoulder and a third one at his feet.

They were going to Hogwarts as soon as Headmistress McGonagall sent them her Patronus, signalling that it was safe to come to the castle. Remus had made the request to her at the last Order meeting and she'd assured him that she'd comply with his wishes although she was slightly puzzled by such secrecy. The werewolf hadn't deemed it safe to tell her about Harry with so many people around; they could only hope that his appearance wouldn't come as too great a shock to the witch.

Hermione shrunk a pile of books and placed it in the pocket of her robes.

"I think so," she replied, "The whole flat's empty now. Remus told me he'd come back a couple of times to check that everything's in order and that all trace of magic is gone."

It had been decided to give up the flat completely; they'd been living there for over a year now and it was time to find a new hiding place after their stay at Hogwarts.

Harry had packed up everything in his... the other Harry's room the night before. He'd put everything into a battered trunk, feeling uncomfortable at violating somebody else's privacy like that. There had been books – Muggle novels and Hogwarts textbooks – and clothes – old school robes stripped off the crest and oversized hand-knitted jumpers – and a huge number of photographs – Muggle and wizarding pictures of Ginny Weasley and the rest of her family; Hermione reading, Remus cooking, Ron playing chess; Harry's parents waving at him, Sirius unwrapping Christmas presents, Neville chewing on a pencil; Ron and Hermione sitting in a park, arms around each other; Harry himself, smiling a bit awkwardly and smoothing down his bangs over his forehead.

Harry had spent a lot of time staring at this last image, touching his own lightning bolt shaped scar as if to mirror his counterpart's gesture.

He was sitting in the living room now, observing Hermione and Ron bickering, obviously comfortable in each other's presence. He wanted... _that_. To feel that comfortable again, to feel that safe again; to feel that he belonged to somebody.

And if Hermione failed in her research, if they never found out how the bowl worked, then -

Severus would be out of his reach, forever.

Rising abruptly, Harry took out his wand.

"I'm sorry," he said, causing Ron and Hermione to raise their heads and look at him in puzzlement. "I'll join you later. Don't wait for me."

He Apparated with a barely audible pop.

_This isn't:_

Harry woke up by sneezing repeatedly; something was covering his face, tickling his nose.

He was lying in the same dark corridor Neville had left him in; the cloth covering him was the invisibility cloak. Pulling the cloak off him and sitting up, Harry started groping for his wand; finally muttering a quiet, "_Lumos_!", he was relieved to see its tip flare up some inches away from his fingertips.

Harry stood up and pulled the cloak over his head again. It was obvious that Neville had entered the Department of Mysteries by now, and as he didn't know how long he himself had been unconscious it was more than likely that the Death Eaters would be in there as well.

The turning chamber was exactly as he remembered it; taking a deep breath and picking a door at random, Harry got lucky: The Time Room stretched out before him. He looked longingly at the huge case containing Time Turners of every size imaginable; but the case was locked and he didn't have the time now to figure out how to open it without doing any damage to the Time Turners. He passed it by, advancing slowly and carefully towards the Hall of Prophecy, anxious to avoid making any noise. He need not have bothered with this precaution, however, as the shouting at the other end of the room made it clear that the Death Eaters and Neville were fully occupied with each other at the moment.

"NO!"

"Don't be stupid, boy," snarled an angry voice, "Just give it to us."

"D'you honestly think I wouldn't know how prophecies work? Why doesn't Voldemort himself come and pick it up?"

"The Dark Lord doesn't bother with such... mundane affairs," another Death Eater spoke – one that Harry recognised as Lucius Malfoy as he crept nearer to to where the voices were coming from, wand raised.

"Mundane?" Neville snapped, "Step back! I'll give you mundane – tell me where my father is!"

Sarcastic laughter rang out.

"Good old Frank," Lucius sneered, "You'll never see him again if you don't give us that prophecy, you know."

"But he was here!" Harry could hear Neville's voice shake with barely suppressed panic, "I saw him, he was here, kneeling! What have you done to him – Where is he?"

"There, there," somebody else said softly, his tone clipped and precise, "Frank Longbottom, kneeling? Our Lord will be most pleased to hear that his visions have left an impression on you, boy. I think..."

And in that moment Harry recognised the voice, recognised the deep baritone and the drawn out vowels -

"Somebody should have paid more attention to his lessons. Isn't that so?"

"Regulus Black!" Neville spat out, "I knew it, you bloody traitor, you never even tried to teach me -"

"_SILENCIO_!" Regulus roared.

Harry was now crouching behind a shelf from where he could see eight Death Eaters, all robed and masked surrounding Neville who had both of his hands raised defiantly, gripping his wand tightly as if to fend off Regulus' charm.

"Much better," Lucius nodded, satisfied, "Let's see how well you've learned your wordless magic, shall we? _Imperio_!"

Harry watched in horror as Neville's eyes glazed over and his posture grew slack. The other wizard didn't seem to be fighting it off, and he obediently turned around to face the shelf with a flick of Lucius' wand.

"Now, boy... Pick up the prophecy."

"_Impedimenta_!" Making a split-second decision, Harry ripped off the cloak and froze Neville in the process of stretching out his hand towards the small glass orb resting in front of him.

The Death Eaters whirled around as one, facing him. Before any of them could attack him Harry had cast a shielding charm; not too early because a moment later half a dozen hexes and curses hit the shield and bounced off harmlessly.

"Potter!" Regulus hissed and Harry could detect genuine surprise in his voice.

"Sir," Harry nodded back, choosing to play the role of sassy ex-student.

"Harry Potter?" another Death Eater asked, taking a step towards Harry. "The Quidditch Player?"

"The very same," Harry shot back and sent a stinging hex towards him; the wizard jumped back with a muttered curse.

"Release him from the curse," he ordered, turning towards Lucius. Out of the corner of his eyes he could his charm wearing off; Neville was steadily creeping closer to the shelf.

"Or what?" another Death Eater – Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry noted with hatred surging through him – asked. "What are you going to do, Potter?"

"You are outnumbered," the Death Eater he'd hexed earlier pointed out gleefully.

"Actually..." Harry allowed himself to think of Ron and Hermione on a bright, hot summer's day, all three of them entangled on a blanket. The memory was enough to produce a brilliantly shining Patronus, the stag bursting forth from the tip of his wand. Harry looked at it for a moment, then nodded and sent it on its way with a wave of his hand.

The Death Eaters had retreated a few steps back; all except for Bellatrix who had taken off her mask and was watching Harry with a hungry expression on her face, and Neville, still under the influence.

"The whole Order will be here in a moment," Harry said quietly, "I suggest you leave now and leave Neville behind."

"Never!" Bellatrix screeched loudly, pointing at Harry with long, thin fingers, "The Dark Lord has given us an order – and no mere _boy_ will keep me from fulfilling his wishes! _Expelliarmus_!"

"_Protego_!" Harry shouted out; but Bellatrix' spell seemed to have broken the other's stupor because suddenly Harry had to defend himself against half a dozen attacks at once. He shouted out every single shielding spell and protection charm he knew, all the while being slowly driven back, away from Neville and the prophecy.

Finally, seeing no other choice, he shouted out, "_Bombarda_!" in direction of the shelves behind his opponents; the shelves exploded into a shower of splinters and broken glass. Harry was protected by another shielding charm; not all the Death Eaters were so lucky and he watched as two of them went down, half-buried under large chunks of wood.

All of this had made little to no impression on Neville; the young wizard was bleeding from various cuts on his face and Harry winced in sympathy as he saw that some small shards of glass had embedded themselves in the flesh of his cheeks and hands. Harry had only this one chance, exploiting the fact that the Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, were distracted for a moment. He tackled Neville bodily, pulling him down to the ground with him. The other man struggled feebly against Harry's grip, but his eyes were still vacant and he didn't utter a single sound. Seeing him thus made Harry's decision easier, even though he couldn't help a slight pang of regret at what he was about to do.

"Sorry, Neville," he whispered, and then, "_Petrificus totalus_!"

Harry scrambled back up again, away from Neville's petrified body and took a deep breath. Voldemort wasn't going to rest until he had Sybill Trelawney's prophecy in his possession; he wasn't going to give up until he'd heard it in its entirety. Harry's advantage in this was that he'd already lived through the events in his world; he himself knew the prophecy by heart and he was sure that the Albus Dumbledore of this reality did as well, even if Neville didn't.

There was therefore no need to leave the glass orb in the Department of Mysteries; no need for the continued risk of Voldemort's interest; the easiest thing would be to destroy the prophecy and be done with it once and for all.

Only one thing prevented Harry from picking up the orb and smashing it on the spot: A prophecy could only be picked up from the shelf by the person it had been made about in the first place; in this place, Voldemort and the boy who lived. But he, Harry, wasn't the boy who lived in this world. Here, he was merely a potential candidate who'd been rejected when Voldemort had made the choice of attacking the Longbottoms nineteen years previously.

On the other hand, Harry _was_ the boy who lived; and part of Voldemort's power still resided in within him; he could still speak Parseltongue and Severus had said so as well.

"What now, Potter?" taunted a furious Bellatrix behind him, "What are you going to do, one against six? I'm sure I can make you beg for your life before your filthy mudblood friends arrive."

"I don't doubt that," Harry answered back, risking a quick glance at this opponents. They'd apparently chose to ignore their injured comrades for the moment and now formed a semi-circle surrounding Harry, wands raised and pointed at him.

"But I doubt you'll lay a finger on me once I've got... this." With those words he reached out, tracing the cool glass structure with his fingers before closing his fist firmly around it and taking it off the shelf.

"How on Earth -" one of the Death Eaters exclaimed and took a step forward; Lucius, his pale face still as a mask, held him back and shook his head.

"Impressive," Regulus muttered, "Very good, Harry."

"Potter!" another robed figure spat out, the haughty, sneering tone telling Harry exactly who was hiding behind the white mask. "You -"

"Draco, no -"

But the young wizard didn't listen. Ripping off his mask he incanted a furious, "_EXPELLIARMUS_!" which Harry barely managed to dodge. Still clasping the prophecy in his left hand he sent various hexes and curses towards the Death Eaters, all the while thinking about how to escape this stand-off. There was no way he could win a fight against six Death Eaters; and this time there was nobody there to help him – no Luna, no Neville, no Ginny, Ron or Hermione. He would have to try and stall for time until Severus and the Order arrived, and not get himself killed in the meantime.

Glancing round the shelves behind him he ground out, "_Reducio_!" A moment later a grumbling noise from above told him that the shelves would collapse in mere seconds. Pointing his wand at his own feet, Harry hoped that his luck would see him through this, whispering, "_Levicorpus_!"

He found himself propelled into the air, faster than he would have expected; the oxygen was driven from his lungs as if he'd been punched in the stomach; his vision blurred.

_And this would be why levitating yourself is really, really frowned upon at school,_ Harry though dizzily as he attempted to control his trajectory.

He had to get away from the exploding shelves and the Death Eaters, away from this room. The Order would be arriving soon and he still had to get a Time Turner; that was what he was here for, after all. Closing his eyes, Harry cradled the crystal ball close to his chest with one hand and gripped his wand more tightly with the other. He desperately pointed it towards the ceiling, hoping that the spell would hold long enough to guide him; and it did. He sailed over the Death Eaters' heads and landed in an ungraceful heap twenty feet away from them.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Crucio!"_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

He barely had time to react; throwing himself behind another shelf to dodge the curses sent his way, Harry stumbled as he stood up and nearly collapsed right away. The room was spinning around him at an alarming speed and little bursts of colourful lights exploded in front of his eyes; his stomach cramped painfully.

"Shit," he whispered to himself before taking off in a run through the narrow paths between the shelves, in the opposite direction from where he'd come from. His original way through the Time Room was closed to him now, barred by broken shelves and the Death Eaters in his pursuit. Harry could hear them running behind him, cursing and swearing. He heard Bellatrix cackle and increased his speed. Reaching the end of the room he wrenched open the door he found there and fitted it with a locking charm once he'd passed through. It was a simple spell that wouldn't hold any wizard worth his salt for long; but it could buy him a few precious seconds.

To Harry's surprise he found himself in the turning chamber again. He closed his eyes as the doors began to spin nauseatingly around him; once they were at rest again he dashed off through one of them. Hopefully the Death Eaters wouldn't know which one he'd taken; that would force them to split up, increasing his chances of getting through this whole impromptu chase alive.

The room he found himself in now was rather medium in size, rectangular and was made entirely out of grey stone. It reminded Harry of Slytherin's tomb; both rooms – chambers – were similar in appearance, seemingly hewn out of a single material, and both of them had an air of great age and hidden power to it, despite looking innocuous enough. This room was empty except for an unlit fireplace opposite the door and a rough stone bench placed in front of it.

Harry took some steps into the middle of the room, away from the door, and turned around, looking up. The ceiling was only a few feet above him and yet seemed to be shrouded in shadows; darkness curled in its corners and a shiver ran down his spine. Whatever the purpose of this chamber was, power was leaking through it, stemming from the fireplace; and while it didn't feel actively dark or evil, it had nothing benign to it either.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Harry was hit from the spell from behind, completely taken by surprise; his attacker must have used a Disillusionment Charm to slip into the room behind him unnoticed. Severus' wand flew from his powerless fingers and clattered to the floor a few feet away. Harry himself had been hit with such force that he was blasted to the ground and narrowly missed cracking his head open against the stone bench.

He made a move to get up again; but the Death Eater in front of him dropped to his knees and bored his wand against Harry's heart.

"Don't even think about moving," he hissed, "I've got you right where I want you."

As the other wizard took off his mask Harry could see that it was Draco Malfoy smirking triumphantly at him.

"So, Potter," he said, "The prophecy, if you please."

"In your dreams," Harry spat and did what few pureblood wizards ever expected their opponent to do: He attacked him bodily. Kicking out with both feet he managed to repel Malfoy enough to spring to his feet; and while the other wizard was still gasping for breath Harry stepped on his right wrist.

"Release it!" he ordered; Draco looked up at him, hatred in his eyes and shook his head defiantly.

Harry pressed his lips together and applied more pressure. Draco howled in pain and let his wand slip from his fingers. Harry kicked it away and then crouched over his former school rival.

"You're pathetic, Malfoy," he said softly, "You and your whole bunch of Muggle-hating comrades. You're a disgrace to the wizarding world, d'you know that? Murdering two innocent people because your fragile ego couldn't take it that Hermione Granger bested you in every single exam – how sad is that?"

Harry had talked himself into a rage; seeing Drace huddled on the ground, seemingly drowning in his black robes, the usually pale face covered with red splotches and saliva glistening on his lips, Harry wanted nothing more than to punch him, knock the living daylights out of the bastard.

Draco looked up at him, panting.

"Sad, maybe," he hissed, "But still better than you. Better prepared in any case. _ACCIO_!" he commanded loudly and his wand came flying through the air, slapping into his free hand.

"_Petrificus totalus_!"

Harry was taken by surprise, again; and although Draco had to use his left, non-wand hand his spell was still strong enough to make Harry freeze up completely and slowly, helplessly topple to the floor.

"You're such a loser, Potter," the other wizard said, rising to his feet, "Such a little Muggle-loving fag."

Coming from a man who was sleeping with Regulus Black rather more often than not that remark was a bit rich, but Harry was hardly in any position to complain. Draco disappeared from his field of vision, coming to stand behind him.

"Pathetic," he said softly, "Shall I show you exactly what I do to pathetic, cocksucking nancy-boys like you, Potter,?"

Suddenly Harry was grabbed by his hair and dragged across the floor. He would have screamed out loud if he had been able to do so; the pain was excruciating. A thousand needles were boring into his scalp, hot flashes shooting through his head and down his spine. Malfoy twisted his hold and the pain intensified even more, became more specific, more vicious. Harry was dragged upwards, his upper body thrown across the bench, face pressed against the cold stone.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Malfoy whispered hotly into his ear.

A wordless spell conjured ropes out of thin air, tying Harry's arms stretched wide apart to the bench in an iron vice. Shackles rose from the floor, binding his feet as well.

"And I think I'll want to hear you scream. _Finite_!"

Harry groaned out loud as the body-bind was lifted; his eyes drifted shut and he fought against the nausea rising up his throat.

"You see, at school – such a long time ago now, isn't it? - I amused myself by designing... spells. A useful skill, don't you think, Potter? Perfect for what I'm going to do to you because I've got just the thing."

Malfoy rapped his wand against Harry's back and he flinched; instead of the pain he expected, however, there was only the cool draft of air against his bare skin – Malfoy had stripped him of his shirt and left his robes in tatters.

"Why, Draco," he panted mockingly, "If you wanted me naked you need only have asked."

Draco's answer was to kick him in the ribs, hard; Harry coughed as he gasped for breath, stars exploding in front of his eyes.

"This is better, trust me," the wizard's voice rang out behind him. "_Flagellante_!"

And Harry's world exploded into shards of pain and blood.

Because the spell Malfoy had apparently created himself was deceptively simple in magical terms, but perfect in its ability to cause pain: A spell inflicting a flogging on a victim using a magical cat-o'nine-tails; and there was no whooshing sound as stroke after stroke rained down on Harry's back, nothing to announce the imminent connection to flesh, no way to prepare himself, to brace himself for blow after blow after blow.

"_Flagellante_!"

After the first blow Harry had cried out as all air was abruptly driven from his lungs. He'd then clenched his teeth, careful not to bite on his tongue, determined not to give Malfoy the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

"_Flagellante_!"

It was a promise to himself he was in no position to keep; and Harry started to scream as soon as he felt a warm, wet trickle start running down his back. The sight of Harry's blood seemed to excite the other wizard even more and he keened the spell in triumph, over and over again.

"_Flagellante! Flagellante! FLAGELLANTE_!"

Unconsciousness seemed to be the only way out, the only way for Harry to escape from this torture. A grey fog started to rise up before his eyes; he whimpered, his throat raw and hurting.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" a harsh voice suddenly rang out through the room and cut through Harry's dizziness; a glimmer of hope that – _this _would soon be at an end because he was absolutely certain that he couldn't take much more of it.

"Regulus," Draco's surprised voice sounded behind him. Harry would have liked to turn around his head to see for himself, but he was firmly tied to the bench, his head held completely immobile. He only had the wizards' voice as guidance to what was going on.

"Draco, what is this?"

"It's just a bit of sport -"

"Just a bit of sport? Have you gone insane like your aunt?"

There was a defiant pause and then Regulus hissed, "Answer me, boy!"

"It was just a bit of sport!"

"Have you forgotten your orders? Where's the prophecy?"

"I -"

Harry barely prevented himself from flinching; the prophecy was in the pocket of his robe where he'd put it during his escape from the Death Eaters. If Regulus really was a traitor, if his fate mirrored that of the Snape from his world, then that meant that everything had been in vain. He was utterly helpless; tied down, wandless, weakened by pain and blood loss he didn't stand a chance against the two wizards.

"You didn't care, did you?" Regulus asked, his voice deceptively soft. "All you cared about was living out your fantasies, obtaining petty revenge at all cost. Release him."

"No!"

"Release him at once."

"What gives you the right -"

"Release him, Draco, or I'm going to do it myself."

"You have no right -"

"I have every right!" the older wizard roared, "Stand back or you'll suffer the consequences!"

"No! He's mine to do with as I please! _Stupefy_!"

Draco's spell sizzled through the room and Harry clenched his eyes shut, the taste of vomit filling his mouth. He couldn't see, wouldn't see even if he could, and so he concentrated on the sounds behind him as the two Death Eaters duelled to decide his fate.

"_Expelliarmus! Impedimenta!"_

"_Protego! Crucio! Flagellante!"_

"_Protego!"_

A moment of silence, interrupted by two sets of laboured breathing, and then Regulus' voice, pregnant with power and magic. _"Expelliarmus_!"

There was a loud cry, a thud; a crack and then silence again.

Footsteps approached Harry; cool fingers touched his face and Regulus whispered, "_Finite._"

The ropes fell away from him, the shackles disappeared; and Harry slid to the ground and vomited until tears were streaming down his face and his body was wracked by hacking coughs. Regulus was crouching next to him, slowly smoothing sweaty strands of hair back from his face, letting the back of his hand wander over Harry's nape and rubbing a soothing pattern on his shoulders, careful not to stray too close to his wounds. When only bile was rising from his throat the older wizard summoned a cool cloth and made Harry look up at him.

His face was expressionless as he wiped Harry's mouth and face; his eyes betrayed nothing. Ever since that last spell he hadn't spoken a word.

He got up and held out his hands to Harry; he took them and was pulled to his feet. The world spun around him and he leaned against the older man.

"_Tergeo_," Regulus said softly, holding Harry by the waist, thumb stroking over the exposed hip bone. "_Tergeo. Tergeo. Tergeo."_

Harry could feel the blood vanish from his back, could feel his wounds close up by another murmured spell, though only superficially.

"I'm not a medi-wizard. This should do for the next hour or so. Get Severus to patch you up, he's got enough experience."

"What about Draco?" Harry whispered hoarsely, turning in Regulus' arms. The younger wizard was lying in a crumpled heap in the far corner of the room; his shockingly bright eyes seemed to be staring straight at Harry and only the unnatural angle of his neck told him that Draco Malfoy was dead.

"An accident," Regulus replied, "It was an accident. Where's the prophecy?"

Harry took it from the pocket of his tattered robe with shaking fingers; the older man closed his hand around it from him and sneered. "I was never very partial to prophecies, I'm afraid. And this one has caused more harm than most." He weighed it in his hand for a moment and then flung it against the nearest wall with all his might. The glass orb shattered into a thousand pieces, Sybill Trelawney's voice floating softly through the room:

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

"Ramblings of a madwoman. Fitting that the Dark Lord should want to hear it, for he is mad himself."

"I... Thank you," Harry said, awkwardly freeing himself from Regulus' embrace. "For saving me. I didn't think... That is, I wasn't sure -"

"Harry, look at me."

Harry complied and was trapped by the other man's gaze; his blue eyes weren't emotionless anymore; anything but that. For the first time he was sure that Regulus was showing him his real feelings, that he wasn't wearing a polite mask or the veneer of arrogance customary for pureblood wizards.

"I've killed Draco. I've destroyed the prophecy. The Dark Lord will know; it seems my role as a spy has – finally – come to an end."

A tremor ran through his body and he twisted his mouth disdainfully before continuing, "I must run; I must hide. There's Death Eaters everywhere, and the Dark Lord – Voldemort – is going to arrive soon. This fireplace -" he pointed to the huge stone hearth behind them, "leads deep into the Department of Mysteries, to places where we'll never be discovered. It's the only chance I – we – have. We have to hide, Harry."

Harry shook his head slowly, licking his split lips. "There's something I have to do first. I can't... I'm sorry."

"Do you have any idea how many Death Eaters are out there? You're in no condition to fight one of them, let alone twenty!"

"There's something I have to do first," Harry repeated stubbornly and Regulus seemed to realise that further discussion would be futile; he sighed.

"So this is goodbye then?" he asked in a low voice. "I've never said goodbye to you before. Not even -"

"That's all in the past," Harry interrupted him. "You should go now."

A sudden thought occurred to him and he grabbed Regulus' sleeve to prevent him from leaving. Shuffling through the pocket of his robe he had to dig deeply before finally retrieving the piece of parchment he'd been looking for. He held it out to Regulus.

"This is... Severus gave it to me. It's a map of the Department of Mysteries and... Well. I know where I'm going. This is for you, for when you get lost."

The older wizard stared at him before gingerly accepting the map and nodding.

"Tell him – Tell him he has my gratitude."

With those words Regulus walked straight towards the fireplace, stepped into the hearth and disappeared in a sudden and short burst of blue flames.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_This is here:_

Harry was sure that Severus Snape had taken precautions against being found after his involuntary disappearance from Spinner's End; after all he was still officially on the run from both the Ministry for Magic and the Order of the Phoenix. But Harry had found him before and he found him again, this time in a Muggle estate in Cardiff, living on the top floor.

Shouting could be heard from the door to the left, a teary woman's voice and a man, bellowing in a Welsh accent made heavy with alcohol. A baby was crying in the flat to the right, shrieking and howling, leaving Harry to wonder how Snape coped with all that noise – probably by the generous use of soundproofing charms.

He rang the door bell and stepped back, smoothing out the wrinkles in his robe. He rang again as nobody answered and then knocked for good measure.

"I'm not just going away, you know," he eventually called out. "You'll have to talk to me, I'm afraid."

The door was suddenly wrenched open. A furious Severus Snape emerged and grabbed Harry by the arm, dragging him inside and slamming the door shut behind them.

_This isn't:_

Harry contemplated the spot where Regulus had disappeared for a few more seconds before turning around and crossing the room to pick up his wand, wincing as he bent over. The spell the older wizard had used on his back had been a very rudimentary one, normally used for shallow cuts and bruises, to heal the daily scrapes a child might get into. The wounds Malfoy had inflicted on him were deep, however, and he'd lost blood as well. His head was pounding, his back was protesting against every single movement he made and his ribs felt sore where he'd been kicked. He was half-naked and he had the stinging aftertaste of vomit in his mouth. All in all, the situation could be better.

Harry pulled up his torn robe over his shoulders and buttoned it up as well as he could; the fabric scraped the tender flesh of his back and he hissed in pain. He could only hope that he'd be able to run on adrenaline until he'd obtained a Time Turner.

He took great care not to look at Draco's corpse as he left the room; the dead wizard's eyes were still staring at him, empty and accusing. Harry couldn't manage not to be relieved at his death – Draco would have killed him without mercy after growing bored of playing with him, Harry was sure of that. And he'd killed – actually killed Ron and Hermione in cold blood and torn his soul apart in the process. Harry himself had sworn to take revenge for those murders, that day at the library so long ago now. In the end the decision had been taken out of his hands and Draco had been killed by his own lover.

Harry stepped out of the room into the turning chamber and found it mercifully empty; the only movement here stemmed from the candles burning blue which flickered slightly as he came to stand in the middle of the chamber. The door he'd come from closed noiselessly and all the doors started to spin around him; Harry bit his lip as his head started swimming. He felt dizzy and stumbled, falling to the ground on his hands and knees.

When the doors stopped revolving he stoop up again laboriously, gripping his wand with both hands. He couldn't afford to lose any more time by trying out every single door in the chamber; and it was more than likely that Death Eaters were behind most of them, looking for him and the prophecy. It had been some time since he'd sent his Patronus to Severus – help in form of the Order would have to come soon or else he had no idea how to get out of here alive, not to forget Neville whom he'd left behind in the Hall of Prophecy.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"_Point Me_!" he commanded, picturing the Time Room in his mind as clearly as he could. The wand in his hands quivered indecisively before coming to rest again.

"_Point Me_!" Harry repeated, putting more force behind the spell. He was misusing it, he knew. The spell had been designed to point north, not towards a specific object. One thing Harry had learned over the years, though, was that magic largely depended on the will of its user; it was shaped by a witch's or wizard's determination – and right now he was nothing but determined to find the Time Room as quickly as possible. He could feel the magic flowing from his fingers, infusing Severus' wand with energy. The slim rod of wood quivered again before being lifted into the air where it started rotating sluggishly, as if not being able to decide where it should point. Harry didn't leave it out of his sight; he focused on the wand and _pushed_. Some sort of resistance gave way then, because the wand spun around rapidly before coming to an abrupt halt, its tip pointing at a door to Harry's left.

He plucked the wand out of the air and spent a fleeting moment wishing for his invisibility cloak before pushing the door open. The Time Room stretched out before him, the neat rows of desks covered with clocks which filled the room with a relentless ticking sound. The case containing the Time Turners was located at the far end of the room, next to the door leading to the Hall of Prophecy.

He'd barely taken three steps into the room when a red streak of light sizzled above his head and hit the wall behind him in a shower of sparks and a loud bang. Harry hastily dived behind the nearest desk, and not a moment too early: The clocks standing on it exploded as he was covering his head with his hands, protecting his eyes and skin as well as he could from shards of glass and splinters of wood.

"Harry Potter!" a gleeful voice sang, "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Harry started crawling towards another desk, cautiously peering around it to look down the aisle. Bellatrix Lestrange was standing in front of the door to the Hall of Prophecy, wand raised and mouth open in silent laughter. She was accompanied by three more Death Eaters who were all still wearing their masks, making it impossible for Harry to identify them.

"My master is here, Harry," Bellatrix called out, "He's coming to get what belongs to him. Give it to him and he might even kill you quickly!"

Harry didn't react to the witch's taunts, not willing to give away his location and needing to save his breath anyway. He could feel the beating of his heart in the throbbing of his back; and when he touched the fabric covering the skin there his hand came away wet and slightly red. Regulus' spell had worn off and his wounds had opened up again; his time was running out.

"Harry..." Bellatrix sighed, "Why won't you come out and play? Do I have to make you dance first?"

Her comment made Harry remember the last time he'd seen the witch dance – in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, dragging Ginny's lifeless body around like a broken doll, mockingly tracing out the steps to a waltz. He knew that _this_ Bellatrix had done no such thing; but he was also absolutely certain that she would, given half the chance. Harry's thoughts raced. He needed to get rid of the witch and her cronies; and although he'd bested her in a duel in his own world and then killed her, the situation then had been rather more to his advantage. He'd had his own wand, for one, and he hadn't been tortured shortly beforehand.

"Potter!" another Death Eater was calling out now, "We know you're here, so stop dossing around for fuck's sake!"

"Very eloquent," yet another Death Eater said scornfully. "Still, you get points for trying. Let's try my method, shall we? _Reducto_!"

The front row of tables was blasted apart and Harry frantically scrambled forward in the ensuing chaos of debris, towards the glass case and the Death Eaters. Every instinct in him screamed at him to turn back, to escape, to flee, but his future was contained in that case at the end of the room – he wasn't going to give up now.

"_Reducto_!"

Another row of desk was reduced to rubble; there were now five rows of tables separating Harry from his attackers and the only reason they hadn't spotted him yet was the fact that the whole room was filled with glittering, dense dust, the last remains of the destroyed clocks. Strangely enough the ticking throughout the room had not diminished; quite the opposite, really, because it was now echoing from everywhere, increasing in volume with each destroyed clock until Harry got the impression that every single speck of dust and every single piece of debris had become a tiny clock of its own, ticking away steadily.

"_Reducto_!"

Four rows, now.

"_Reducto_!"

Three.

Harry inhaled deeply, then sprang to his feet and cast a shielding charm.

"I'm here," he said calmly.

"Harry, my boy," Bellatrix said, "Give me the prophecy."

"It's been destroyed," Harry answered, "Its message is lost forever."

"Impossible!" the woman hissed. "That fool Dumbledore would never allow you to destroy so precious a thing. Where is it?"

"I'm telling you the truth. The glass orb was smashed by one of your own people. You can go and have a look if you want – it's in one of the rooms, together with Draco Malfoy's corpse."

"You're lying!" Bellatrix shrieked, "You filthy, lying halfblood! _Crucio_!"

Harry barely managed to dodge the curse by diving to the floor and scrambling back. His whole body protested against the jarring movements and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to stand up again as his vision blurred and swam.

"_Crucio_!"

This time Harry had nowhere left to run. He screamed in agony as the course hit him, setting every single nerve ending on fire. His world narrowed down to his body and the unrelenting pain coursing through it. He could taste blood in his mouth; he'd bitten on his tongue, hard enough to break the skin. He could barely hear himself screaming, sobbing, garbling nonsense, begging for the pain to stop – and still the ticking of the clocks resonated in his ears, a sound that would haunt him in his dreams for weeks to come. Bellatrix was laughing again, a sound of sheer happiness tinged with insanity.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Stupefy!"_

And then it stopped.

Everything seemed to be reduced to slow motion as Bellatrix was disarmed and thrown backwards by the force of both spells. She crashed against the wall, lying still.

Harry knew that he needed to get up, needed to stand up and fight against the remaining Death Eaters; but at the same time he was aware that right now he couldn't stand up if his life depended on it.

"Harry! Oh, sweet Merlin, Harry!"

Somebody – a woman – was sobbing, crying out and Harry recognised the voice as belonging to his mother.

"Lily, for heaven's sake – _Expelliarmus! Petrificus totalus!"_

That was Sirius, his booming voice drowning out the ticking of the clocks.

"_Crucio!"_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The Death Eaters were fighting back. Harry heard them shouting out curses and a nauseating green light filled the room, the traces of Killing Curses that had missed their intended targets.

"_Incendio! Stupefy!"_

He lost track of how much time passed as his mother and Sirius fought against Voldemort's followers. He was trying to sit up, leaning against the leg of a desk for support. Finally pulling himself into a more or less upright position he saw that two other Death Eaters had gone down, both tightly bound by magical ropes. The last one, however, was still standing in front of the great glass case. His black robes were torn and his previously white mask smeared with blood; but still he stood tall and unbowed.

"Right," Sirius snarled, "Let's get this over with. Lily?"

"I'm here."

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Reducto!"_

The combined power of the two spells broke through the Death Eater's protective shield. Harry could only watch in horror as he was struck square in the chest and went flying into the air, backwards and directly into the case containing the Time Turners.

"_NO!"_

He didn't realise that it was him who had screamed; it had been the howl of an anguished animal, shrill and utterly helpless.

The glass broke easily under the wizard's weight. The Time Turners did as well, crashing to the floor one by one and shattering like dropped icicles.

"No..."

"Harry!"

His mother dropped down on her knees beside him and cradled his face in her hands..

"Oh, Harry, my Harry, you're alive. You're safe..."

Sirius came to stand next to them.

"They're all stupefied to within and inch of their lives. Let the Ministry deal with them. Can you stand, Harry?"

But the shock of what had happened was now fully catching up with him and Harry started crying hysterically, the falling tears mixing with the blood already smeared around his mouth and chin.

"The Time Turners... Sweet Merlin, the Time Turners," he moaned.

"Harry, you have to calm down," Sirius said.

"Leave him alone!" Lily snapped protectively and then wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs, peering at him out of eyes that were identical to his own.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, "Sirius is right. We have to go now."

"But... The Time Turners!" Harry sniffed and if he'd been in his right mind he would have been appalled at the pitiful creature he was at that moment.

"They're all broken. I'm sorry. But Harry, we don't have time for this. Can you stand up?"

"I think so. I... I..." Harry managed to calm himself and grasp Sirius' hands which pulled him upwards.

"Harry!" Lily exclaimed as she caught sight of his mangled back. "What happened?"

"Draco Malfoy happened," he replied, " 'S what he does to cocksucking nancy-boys like me."

"I'm going to kill him," Sirius said immediately, fury colouring his voice.

"No need." Harry coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood. His mother carefully put an arm around his waist, supporting him. "Your brother beat you to that I'm afraid."

"Regulus? Where is he?"

"Hiding. He had to... hide. He's sure Vodemort... knows." Speaking had become difficult for Harry: Between his sore throat, the swollen tongue, cracked lips and the metallic taste in his mouth it was a kind of miracle that he was still able to form words at all.

"We have to go," Lily said, "We don't know if there's not more of them in the vicinity."

"What about Neville?" Harry wheezed. "He's... I left him in the Hall of Prophecy."

"We don't have time -"

"I can't just leave him there! I petrified him and – and..."

"You two go on," Sirius said, "I'm going to check the Hall. Don't wait for me, d'you hear me? Harry needs medical attention as quickly as possible."

"All right," Lily said, but Sirius grabbed her arm.

"I mean it, Lily," he said, "No heroics."

"Yes, I understand!" the witch replied impatiently. "We'll see you in Godric's Hollow. Take care."

"Take care, love. And keep my godson in one piece."

Sirius took off, jumping over shards of glass and disappearing through the door at the end of the room. Lily looked after him with concern etched on her pale face, but then she resolutely turned to Harry and gave him an encouraging smile that barely wavered.

"Come on, then. No use standing about and I expect Severus will be frantic with worry by now."

"Where is he?" Harry asked.

"Hopefully still waiting for us in the revolving room. He called the whole Order, did you know? Every single member with one wandless Patronus, I've never seen anything like it. He told me you had his wand; Harry, sweetheart, what happened to yours?"

"It's a long story," Harry hedged. It was clear that Lily wasn't satisfied with that answer but she let the issue rest for the moment.

"Anyway, he couldn't fight, not without a wand – and what a ridiculous concept that is, a wandless wizard! - so we gave him one of the invisibility cloaks. He refused to stay behind."

Lily opened the door for them and Harry had barely stepped through when he was embraced by a pair of strong arms. In other circumstances he might have enjoyed the caress; but now he cried out in pain. Severus let go of him immediately and pulled the invisibility cloak off his head.

"Harry," he murmured, "What happened?"

"Later. We'll explain everything later, Severus," Lily said briskly. "We have to get out of here. Where are the others?"

"Fighting Voldemort's loyal followers," the wizard replied, starting to drape the cloak around Harry. The added weight of the cloak was too much to bear however because it added pressure to his wounds. Harry grit his teeth and shook his head, pushing away Severus' hands. "The whole Department of Mysteries has become a battle ground."

"Regulus..." Harry breathed. Wherever the other wizard was right now, he hoped that he'd made it to safety, somewhere deep in the Department where nobody would be able to find him.

"Let's go," Lily said, "For heaven's sake, let's go before Voldemort himself arrives!"

It took the three of them a long time to make their way to the lift and to the lobby of the Ministry. Harry wouldn't wear the invisibility cloak to hide him; and a Disillusionment Charm wasn't an option either as the magic settled into Harry's raw skin and irritated the tender flesh even more. He'd nearly fainted when Lily had tried and from then on she'd become nearly mindless with worry, her only goal to bring him to safety as quickly as possible.

Signs of battle greeted them in the corridor leading to the lift; an abandoned Death Eater mask, gleaming in an unnaturally white colour was lying in a corner. Scorch marks adorned the walls and the lift door; there were drops of blood on the floor.

"Wizards drawing each other's blood," Severus said as he glimpsed those. "This means we truly are at war."

The lift ascended in a torturously slow journey. As they arrived at their destination a vision of hell greeted them: The lobby was a picture of destruction, the huge welcome desk slowly burning to a cinder. The Fountain of Magical Brethren had literally been blown apart, the golden statues lying on the ground, half-molten. Water was leaking all over the floor. In front of the Fountain stood Lord Voldemort, wand pointed straight at a cowering Neville who was clutching his father's lifeless body in his arms.

Lily jerked back Harry instinctively, shielding him from view; but their entrance hadn't escaped from Voldemort's notice.

"Welcome!" he called out mockingly, his eyes never leaving the young wizard in front of him.

"We've got guests, Neville! Or witnesses, if you will." A cruel smile formed on his lips. "The mudblood and her Quidditch-playing offspring! Not to forget dear Severus Snape who has evaded me for far too long. Shall we give them a spectacle, Neville?"

Neville didn't answer. He didn't even seem to notice that anybody was in the room with him. Loud sobs were wracking his body as he rocked his father's corpse in his arms.

"Answer me, boy!" Voldemort ordered.

"Harry, stay back," Lily hissed desperately. He didn't listen, instead freeing himself from his mother's grasp and taking some steps further into the lobby, his eyes fixed on the boy who lived. Severus reached out to grasp his shoulder but he shrugged off the hand impatiently. Every trace of pain and exhaustion was gone, replaced by adrenaline and fear running through his veins.

"Dumbledore," he whispered, "We need Dumbledore. Where is he?"

"This is not the time -"

"Where is he?"

"Albania," Lily answered, "I'm sorry, it was impossible to reach him."

"That's not good."

"No, it's not," Severus agreed caustically. "Listen, we can Apparate from here -"

"And leave Neville to his fate?"

"Neville is the boy who lived, it literally is his fate to fight Voldemort."

"_I'm_ the bloody boy who lived as well," Harry hissed, "So I suppose the same thing goes for me."

"Harry, what -"

"Silence!" Voldemort roared suddenly and then smiled as Lily clapped her hand over her mouth. "Much better. Now, what say you to watching us duel? They boy who lived and the wizard he's supposed to defeat. Pick up your wand, boy!"

Neville looked at him, tears streaming down his face and shook his head. "You killed him," he said in a choked voice, "You – you killed my father!"

"I couldn't very well let you escape, could I? And really, it was quite brave of Frank to come back for you. But he could be spared. You, on the other hand, still need to tell me where my prophecy is."

"It's destroyed," Harry called out. "It's gone."

"I don't recall asking _you_!" Voldemort hissed and flicked his wand. A streak of light came shooting towards Harry and was stopped at the last moment by a huge, silvery dragon who opened his mouth and roared noiselessly, swallowing the curse. It was a Patronus, he realised. Turning around he saw Severus with outstretched arms, silver streams flowing from his hands and a look of absolute concentration on his face.

"Impressive," the dark wizard sneered, "Very impressive. But now, back to you -" he turned towards Neville, "Pick up your wand."

"No."

Seeing the thin piece of wood lying a few feet away from Neville, Harry was shocked to recognise it: It was his own wand. _His_ _wand_. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather. And he knew what happened when this particular was used to fight against Voldemort...

"Neville, pick up the wand, pick up your fucking wand!" he yelled.

But the other wizard seemed to have gone into shock: He just kept on rocking the body in his arms and pressed a kiss on top into his father's hair.

"Neville!" Panic began to overtake Harry. Apparently Voldemort was tired of playing with his prey as well because he was now raising his wand and smiling.

"Going down without a fight," he mocked. "Oh dear. What would your father say?"

That got a reaction out of the young man. He looked up at spat, "Don't you dare mention my father! He doesn't... He doesn't..."

"For fuck's sake, pick up your bloody wand and fight!" Harry hissed, crossing the room in long strides and wrenching the wizard away from his father's corpse. He could hear Lily crying out and Severus trying to calm her down, but right now nothing else mattered but Voldemort's presence.

"I... I can't, Harry," Neville said helplessly, "Oh Merlin, I'm so scared... I'm so scared!"

"Where is that Gryffindor bravery?" Voldemort taunted. "Too scared to look your fate in the eye, are you?"

"I'll give you Gryffindor bravery!" Harry said hotly and stretched out his right hand.

"_Accio_!" he commanded and Neville's wand came flying into his hand. A feeling of warmth enveloped Harry; golden and red sparks shot from its tip and suddenly he felt energised again, his body thrumming with power.

"Come on!" he called to Voldemort, "Let's duel."

Voldemort's face twisted into a grotesque mask of hatred and anger. He didn't hesitate in pointing his wand at Harry's heart, exclaiming, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Harry knew what would happen now; but it still came as a shock to him when the green beam of the Killing Curse and the red one of his own spell connected and became one, a rich golden beam that connected their wands. Harry and Voldemort were levitated into the air; and because Harry had done this before, had done this even when he'd been younger and with less focused will power it was almost easy to force his spell out of his wand and down the beam connecting it to Voldemort's own wand. The phoenix song was almost drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears and Voldemort's enraged screams – and then Frank Longbottom appeared next to Harry.

"Take care of my boy," he whispered.

Harry nodded and tightened the grip on his wand. The last time he'd done this he himself had broken the connection. He'd escaped back to Hogwarts, leaving Voldemort and his Death Eaters behind in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. This time was different: He needed to distract the other wizard long enough to allow the others to escape. He wanted them safe, his mother, Neville and Severus.

Severus above all, who'd risked everything for him.

"Go!" he shouted, the golden threads making up the dome around him and Voldemort still multiplying, weaving an ever denser net. "Go! Take Neville and go!"

He couldn't see them anymore, couldn't hear whether they answered him or not. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the connection between him and the dark wizard, using Legilimency to push against his mind and finding it wide open. The _Priori Incantatem _around them accelerated as more and more people began to appear next to Frank Longbottom. They all formed a circle around Voldemort and Harry used the wizard's distraction to enter his mind.

Legilimency was not a weapon; but it could be used as such if the wizard or witch was determined enough. Some weeks ago Harry had simply torn through Severus' mind on his quest to find answers, hurting him considerably in the process. Now he wasn't even interested in Voldemort's mind; all he did was to pour his own, raw power into it, ripping through his last shreds of sanity and leaving his own magical trace on everything. Harry was not hateful towards him, though. Hate was an emotion Voldemort could understand and use for his own ends. No, what Harry did was to pour love into Voldemort's mind.

Every memory of Ron and Hermione he had, every sigh and whisper Ginny had uttered during their one day together; memories of looking at pictures of his parents and having dinner with Sirius and Remus; Albus Dumbledore sucking on a sweet, Hagrid presenting him with Hedwig on this 11th birthday; and Severus, pressing a relieved kiss against his lips after they'd been saved from Dementors.

Voldemort let out a loud, bloodcurdling scream; then he broke the connection and Apparated away in a flurry of black robes.

The ghosts in the lobby disappeared; so did the golden dome. In the sudden silence of the room and of his mind Harry crashed to the floor, letting Neville's wand fall from numb fingers as he fainted for the second time that night.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_This is here:_

"What do you _want_, Potter?" Snape asked, looking impatient and not a bit dangerous; black robes creased, his hair hanging in greasy strands from his head, pasty skin and yellowing teeth. He looked like a contorted version of Severus, like somebody had taken his lover and twisted him into something ugly.

Harry couldn't stop staring.

There were lines on the other man's face, made harsher by the half-light of the flat; all the blinds were drawn and only let in a minimum of sunlight. Snape's nose cast a seemingly huge shadow on his face; his eyes were black and empty.

"I miss him," he said helplessly. "I miss him."

"Potter," Snape hissed, spittle flying from his mouth, "Do you want to tell me that you have compromised my life and therefore the fight against the Dark Lord because you miss your _lover_?" He spat out the last word as if it were an insult; and in his mind it probably was.

Harry nodded and then sat down on the beaten armchair in the living room without being asked.

"Of course, make yourself comfortable," Snape sneered, "Shall I make you a cup of tea as well?"

It was all Harry could do to keep himself from crying and he looked unblinkingly at the other wizard, searching for any hint of warmth there, any hint of familiarity. He needed some reassurance; he needed someone to tell him that everything would be all right.

"Haven't you ever loved anyone?" he asked hoarsely and Snape flushed.

"I fail to see how that's any concern of yours, boy."

"Only – You could understand me, then."

"In any case, I could never condone such foolish and reckless behaviour for the sake of a fleeting emotion!"

"You haven't," Harry said with quiet certainty, "You wouldn't say that if you had."

"Potter -"

"I'm not here to attack you, or to annoy you," he explained earnestly, "Only you look a bit like him."

"Like who?"

"Severus Snape. _My_ Severus."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Aren't we supposed to be identical in appearance?"

"You couldn't be more different. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have come. Nobody will be able to trace me though, I promise."

Harry stoop up and scrubbed tiredly at his face. "You'll hopefully never see me again. This me, at any rate. But if you do – well."

He reached out his hand and Snape flinched back as if burned, looking at it with disdain.

"I never told him I loved him," Harry said, letting his hand fall at his side. "In the beginning I didn't and then I thought I had all the time in the world. It must have been hard for him, with everyone being... But nobody blamed me. They all blamed him. I think they still do. But he never said a thing. He made me tea and took me to Muggle restaurants and he'd patch me up if I fell off my broom and we'd get pissed on Firewhisky together but I never said anything. But I do. I do love him and even if you're not him I need you to know that. I need him to know that."

There was a pause, then, in which Harry licked his suddenly dry lips and Snape balled his hands into fists.

"I'd better go now," Harry said and didn't wait for Snape to reply before escaping from his presence.

_This isn't:_

"Hold still, Harry. This might sting a bit."

Harry nodded and clenched his teeth as Severus covered his back with a cold, greasy substance that smelled like rotten eggs and felt like it was setting every single whip mark on fire.

"It's going to be completely absorbed into your skin in about twenty minutes and then you can put a shirt on. You'll have to put it on again tomorrow but after that you should be fine. You were lucky."

"How so?"

"Because Draco made a crucial mistake in designing his spell. The whip worked like an ordinary whip on your skin and that's why your wounds can be healed magically. A more competent wizard would have infused it with magic that makes it impossible to heal those wounds quickly."

"Ah well, that makes me feel so much better," Harry murmured, eyes drooping. He'd only woken up an hour ago though, in an unfamiliar bedroom full of faded Quidditch posters where the players were moving around rather sluggishly on their brooms instead of zipping through the sky. Every single bone in his body had hurt; he'd been lying on his stomach amongst a truly impressive pile of pillows. Harry had almost fainted again when he'd tried sitting up, but Severus had entered the room at that moment, carrying a tray full of food and medicine.

"What time is it?" Harry asked.

"It's seven o'clock in the evening," Severus answered, smoothing the last of the potion over his back and tracing small circles on his shoulder blades. "You've slept for more than twelve hours. Mind you, that's no wonder considering everything that happened last night."

"Neville!" Harry's eyes flew open. "Regulus, and the Order! What happened?"

"Neville is fine. He is traumatised by the death of his father. He didn't have anybody else growing up and after the deaths of Ron and Hermione he became... unstable, for a while. Frank made sure that he didn't follow them into a quick death and now that he's gone... We'll have to see. He always tried living up to his father's expectations – and last night he failed in his own eyes. He's with Albus Dumbledore right now, at Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore – He's back?"

"Oh yes, he came back this morning. I heard he was furious. Have some of that tea, it should still be warm."

Harry gratefully accepted the offered cup and drank deeply. He thought he could still taste the nauseating mix of blood and vomit in his mouth, although someone must have performed a tooth-cleaning charm while he'd been sleeping; upon waking his breath had tasted of a minty spice that he'd come to associate with wizarding tooth paste over the years.

"Regulus, to my knowledge, is alive and safe for the time being. Dumbledore wouldn't tell anybody more I'm afraid. Most of the Order members are unharmed, some minor injuries. Tonks is currently suffering from an engorged nose twice its normal size but since she's a Metamorphmagus it's not bothering her too much. Emmeline Vance and Bill Weasley have sustained mild trauma from exposure to the Cruciatus curse and are being treated at St Mungo's. It was good you called me when you did, Harry."

"Thank you," Harry said and put the cup on the nightstand. He made as if to get up from the bed, but Severus grasped his hand and shook his head. "Not yet. You're still quite weak. What you did was brilliant, yes, but also quite foolish."

"I gave your map to Regulus," Harry blurted out suddenly – whether that was to stop it weighing on his conscience or because he wanted to distract Severus from lecturing him he didn't know. Possibly a mixture of both. "He needed – There was this fireplace and he didn't know where he was going, so I gave it to him. I'm sorry."

Severus looked down at their joined hands, squeezing Harry's fingers lightly before letting go.

"It was my gift to you, yours to use as you please," the older man said slowly as if wanting to be careful not to slip in his choice of words.

Harry, on the other hand, couldn't shake the feeling that Severus wasn't really talking about the map just then. He sat up straight, clasping Severus' head in his hands and forcing the other wizard to look at him.

"Listen," he said fiercely, "I can't help what happened between your Harry and Regulus. I don't know how he – I – feels about Regulus Black and I can't sort it out for you. I gave Regulus the map because it seemed like the right thing to to. He'd just saved me from Draco Malfoy and blew his cover and I couldn't not be grateful. And even if... Even if... I'm straight, remember?" he finished lamely.

Severus' lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile.

"I remember," he confirmed.

"Anyway, Regulus told me that you have his gratitude."

Instead of snorting at the pompousness of that sentiment as Harry had expected Severus to react, the older wizard frowned and then nodded. "I suppose..." he muttered. Smiling suddenly as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders he brushed back Harry's messy hair and then got up from where he'd been sitting on the bed.

"You should go back to sleep," he said and started to clean up around the room, picking up Harry's torn robe and scowling at it. "I suspect that Albus Dumbledore will want to see you as soon as possible and you'll want to be well rested for that particular interview."

"Severus... What about the Time Turners?" Harry asked.

The other man stilled with his back turned to him and then briskly resumed putting things on the tray he'd brought with him.

"They're destroyed," Severus said tightly, "Each and every one of them, destroyed. I went back and checked. I'm sorry."

"But..." Panic began to slither up Harry's spine. "There's others? You said that there used to be loads of Time Turners around until that ban, maybe the Ministry has got others somewhere else?"

"'Loads' is a rather relative term in the wizarding world, Harry," Severus said, "And no. When Time Turners were banned the Ministry collected them all in the one place that was presumed safe. After all, who would ever think to break into the Department of Mysteries? It's completely unheard of."

"So... So, what now?"

"Now you rest, Harry. Lily may want to talk you first and I can hardly forbid her to see her own son, especially in her own house."

"We're in Godric's Hollow?"

"She wouldn't let me take you home." The other wizard's tone told Harry that there was a whole story behind there – probably a spectacular row – but he was too depressed to ask further questions. Severus left the room noiselessly and Harry slowly pulled the fresh shirt over his head that had been laid out for him.

The fact that all of the Time Turners had been destroyed slowly began to sink in properly, now that he felt a bit more clear in the head; that, as well as the consequences. He was stuck here. Stuck in this strange world, so unfamiliar to him. He felt like an outsider here; alien to this reality. A feeling that was entirely normal, he supposed; but then again, Harry was homesick. He missed his friends and he missed the familiarity of the life he was used to – he hated having to be on his guard all the time, every single day with every single person he met. This world, this dimension was like his own reality in so many respects – but it felt as if somebody had taken a kaleidoscope and shifted it just so, making everything twisted and strange in the process.

As abnormal and plain dangerous Harry's own life was, he wanted it back.

And if he couldn't ever return...

What was he supposed to do? He wasn't good enough or even enthusiastic enough to keep on playing Quidditch. On the other hand he lacked the necessary skills for everything else. Harry had never got his NEWTs and there had been times over the last few years when he'd regretted the decision to leave Hogwarts early. It wasn't the qualifications on a piece of parchment he lacked; it was the systematic knowledge taught at school, information handed to you on a silver platter. Sometimes he envied Hermione her self-discipline and motivation for learning. So getting any sort of job would be difficult, but there were also other aspects of this other Harry's life to consider -

Like his relationship with Severus Snape.

If he couldn't get back; if he was stuck here for the rest of his life; what was he supposed to do about the other Harry's lover? Keep up the pretence – at least for a certain amount of time – and then break up with him? Move out the very next day and start a life of his own somewhere in London? There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Severus loved him – loved _his_ Harry, that was – even though the other man had never explicitly said so. It was clear in the way he talked about him; obvious in the way he looked at him in unguarded moments; painfully evident in the way he'd kissed him after that Dementor attack. Severus was worrying about him constantly. He'd protected him at the Ministry of Magic with his own Patronus. He'd do anything to keep him safe, to make sure his lover would find himself in a perfectly conserved body when – _if_ – they were reunited.

Harry wasn't sure how Severus would cope, knowing that he was forever separated from his partner by a near-infinity of dimensions but stuck with an ostensibly straight and slightly messed up counterpart in his body.

Focusing on Severus also helped to distract Harry from his own tangled feelings on the matter. After all, he wasn't sure what he wanted anymore, if he'd ever known it in the first place. Being in the other wizard's presence left Harry feeling awkward, always, and mildly confused most of the time. He wasn't used to feeling this way; and it had literally been years since he'd contemplated any sort of relationship with anyone. He had Remus; he had Ron and Hermione and that would have to be enough until after he'd finally defeated Voldemort.

And up until these past few weeks, that had been enough.

Now, however...

A soft knock on the door interrupted Harry's musing and he called out a muffled, "Enter!", burying his face in the pillows.

"Harry?"

Lily gingerly opened the door and entered the room, coming to sit on the bed beside him. She gently smoothed back his hair, mirroring Severus' caress earlier, but his hand had been larger, warmer and, somehow, so much more.

"Mum?" Harry asked, barely stumbling over the unusual word; he turned his head.

"I just wanted to see whether you were all right," the witch said, smiling a bit sadly. "I was worried about you."

"Severus took care of me."

"That he did," she conceded and sighed. "Harry, I know we've never talked about his -"

"Don't," he interrupted her and sat up, bringing them both face to face. Lily's hand fell away from his head; he took it and looked at the slender golden ring she was wearing.

"Is that -?" he gestured at the ring finger.

Lily nodded. "It's my wedding ring. I haven't taken it off since your father put it there. Didn't seem right, somehow."

"Doesn't Sirius mind?" Harry asked, honestly curious.

"Sirius knows that if James were still alive today we'd be happily married to each other."

"And that... that..." he groped for the right words to say.

"Yes," his mother confirmed the unspoken question, "Sometimes. But at the end of the day I'm coming home to him. He got me, in the end, no?"

Harry was vividly reminded of Severus at that moment, saying almost those exact words - _"I got you in the end, didn't I?"_ - and bit his lip. Just as Regulus Black seemed to be standing between the other Harry and Severus, James Potter had left a very clear presence in this house that hadn't faded over the years. He wondered how Sirius dealt with that, looking at his partner of five years, someone he had know for nearly three decades and knowing that she'd rather be with someone else if she could.

"Do you love Sirius?" he blurted out, suddenly needing to know. He needed to know that there was, love in this seemingly better world after all. Because Dumbledore had told him that love was the greatest power in the world – greater than anything Voldemort could come up with. Without love, what chance did they stand against the most evil wizard since Grindelwald? Without love, what made the endless fighting worth it?

"Do you love Severus?" Lily retorted without missing a beat.

Harry replied after a second's hesitation, wonder colouring his voice as he realised that he was speaking the truth.

"I do, actually. Yes."

"Harry, my dear boy, have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to a huge, squashy armchair in front of his desk and Harry sank down on it with a barely audible sigh. He hadn't slept much last night; pain and disappointment had kept him awake for a long time after Lily had left him with a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," he said respectfully, bowing his head. Dumbledore hadn't specified a reason in his demand for Harry's visit; Harry doubted that this would be a simple debriefing, however. The old wizard looked too grave for that, peering at him over his half-moon spectacles.

"How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "Regulus has told me that you sustained some serious injuries at the hands of young Mr Malfoy."

"I'm all right, thanks," Harry replied. "Severus has taken care of me. We stayed in Godric's Hollow... afterwards. How is Regulus, sir? Where is he?"

The headmaster sighed. "Regulus is well, considering the circumstances. Voldemort is most displeased with him, as you can well imagine, and has tried to destroy his mind using Legilimency. So far Regulus had managed to resist, also because Voldemort is still weakened and distracted by the magic you've worked, Harry. I have to say, a most impressive feat."

Harry noted that he other wizard had omitted Regulus' whereabouts in answering his questions but decided not to press the issue.

"Yeah... Well." He stopped there, unsure how to proceed. How much did Dumbledore know about what had happened at the Ministry? What had Regulus – or Severus, or Lily for that matter – told him? Surely he'd already spoken to Neville?

"Harry -" Dumbledore interrupted himself. He picked up his wand and said, smiling slightly, "I think this conversation calls for a cup of tea. Would you care for something to eat as well?"

Harry shook his head and watched as the headmaster summoned a house-elf and explained his wishes. Nodding eagerly, the house-elf disappeared with a crack and a full tea tray materialised on the desk between them a second later. Dumbledore poured tea for the both of them and Harry grasped his cup with both hands, glad to have something that kept his hands occupied.

"I do apologise," the old wizard was saying now, "I've spoken to both Regulus and Neville extensively and talked to your mother and Sirius via Floo. I know what happened but now... Now I can't help but wonder why. You see, I was told some extraordinary things."

Harry couldn't prevent himself from croaking, "Like what?"

"You picked up the prophecy," Dumbledore said, "You picked up the prophecy from its shelf, although there are only two wizards alive who should be able to do that. The prophecy was not made about you. It was about Tom Riddle and Neville Longbottom, the boy who lived."

"Erm..." Harry hedged.

"And then," the other man continued, "What about your behaviour towards Regulus Black? Quite surprising, given your... ambiguous relationship. And the thing that astounded me the most, Harry, and that which is also the greatest mystery to me: You took Neville's wand from him. You simply picked it up -"

"He wouldn't do it and there wasn't time for faffing around. Voldemort would have killed us all -"

"Let me finish, please. You took Neville's wand and started duelling with Voldemort himself. Few, if any, wizards have survived that foolishness, yet you escaped without a scratch, figuratively speaking. You knew what was going to happen, didn't you? The _Priori Incantatem_ is a very rare effect, almost never observed. Yet you knew of it and used it with absolute certainty. The question is..." Dumbledor leaned forward, pinning him with an unwavering gaze. "How?"

"And Harry," he carried on, "I shall know if you're lying to me."

Harry sipped at his tea and grimaced at the overly sweet taste of it. "Is that a threat, sir?"

"Merely a statement of fact."

"Well then."

Harry sat still for a moment and gathered his thoughts. Then he put the tea cup back on the desk and pushed the saucer away from him.

"You could say I'm not from here," he started his story, "I'm not from here, meaning this world. You see, that bowl you gave to Severus some weeks ago..."

Just as he had done with Remus, Harry explained everything – from his ill-fated trip to York on the hunt for another horcrux to waking up in Severus' cottage; from keeping up the pretence and the strangeness of going from being the boy who lived to living as an ordinary Quidditch Player of no consequence whatsoever. Dumbledore listened without interrupted him and the concentrated look on his face told Harry that he'd put their conversation and his story into a Pensieve as soon as he'd left he office.

Finally Harry broke off, feeling exhausted again. His back was throbbing – a dull ache – and his head had started to hurt quite a while ago. His mouth was dry and he greedily drank down his tea, not caring that it had gone cold.

"That explains most things," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "Extraordinary! Quite extraordinary. It's our decisions that shape us, make us into who we are – but they also have the potential to influence everything around us. Who would have thought that a single brave decision by Remus Lupin could have such an impact? However, Harry, there is one thing, one foolish act for which I cannot but reprimand you: Why did you not tell us about your suspicions regarding Neville? Lives might have been saved if you had done so."

The image of Frank Longbottom, lying dead in his son's arms, rose unbidden into Harry's mind; he lowered his head.

"I don't know," he whispered, "I supposed I thought... I thought I could handle it on my own."

"Like you've handled most thing on your own every since you were a small boy," the headmaster remarked. "And Severus didn't try and influence you otherwise. Of course he didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry... I know it doesn't seem like it but I do value every single member of the Order of the Phoenix even if I have to pay more attention to some of them than to others. And I can safely say that Severus Snape would follow you to the end of the world and back if you asked him to. I have seldom known a wizard to hold so deep a love for another human being."

Harry was sure that he gaped quite openly at Dumbledore in a rather unbecoming manner. He'd known that Severus loved the other Harry; of course he'd known that. To have that fact confirmed by Albus Dumbledore, of all people, nevertheless came as quite a surprise to put it mildly.

"The other Harry," he said eventually ,"He loves the other Harry."

"You – ah. It's like that, isn't it?"

There was nothing but compassion shining in Dumbledore's eyes and all at once Harry felt like crying.

"In that case, maybe the destruction of the Time Turners might be looked upon as a more serendipitous event?"

"How can you say that!" Harry snapped. "I want to get back – I need to get back! My friends are waiting for me. I need to fight against Voldemort. And even if all that didn't apply, you've said it yourself: Severus loves Harry. How could I ever stay here, knowing that the other Harry is stuck in my world? With Snape who's a Death Eater – who killed you! - and Voldemort after him? No; this would be the coward's way out. Time Turners or not, I'm a wizard and I will find a way to go back in time. I don't care how long it'll take me. I will return."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," Dumbledore said after a lengthy pause. Then he rose and clapped his hands; the tea tray and assorted cups vanished.

"And now if you will excuse me, you've given me a lot to think about. Bowls, horcruxes, Time Turners – these are interesting times we live in."

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, getting up from the armchair, "Is there nothing you can do about the Time Turners? Nothing you can think of?"

"Harry my boy, I -" the wizard sighed. "Time is not to be trifled with. A wizard of witch trying to control it might very well go mad. In fact, many have. It is a branch of magic I have always steered well clear of."

Harry bit his lip and nodded.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said. "But don't give up hope yet. After all, I think it highly unlikely that every single Time Turner in Great Britain has been destroyed. I'm reasonably sure that some wizarding families have one tucked away in their Gringotss vault; just in case, you know. And for every door that closes, another one opens."

"Are you suggesting I break into Gringotts?" Harry asked and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the pot on the mantel piece. "That's ridiculous, I'd never make it, there's the Goblins, and the dragon..."

"Not at all, not at all. No, what I'm suggesting is that you go and get some rest. You look like you need it."

"Yes, Professor."

Before throwing the powder into the fireplace, Harry turned around and smiled at the old wizard. "I know you're not my Professor Dumbledore but still... It's been good, seeing you again. I missed talking to you."

"Go now, Harry," Dumbledore murmured but Harry could see that his eyes were misty behind his glasses. He nodded and stepped into the fireplace.

Arriving in the living room of Severus' cottage he could hear the other man puttering about in the kitchen. The wireless was playing softly and the clattering of dishes told Harry that Severus was cleaning up. Too tired to even call out a greeting he shuffled over to the sofa and collapsed on it, lying on his stomach and falling asleep immediately.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_This is here:_

"This is giving me a headache," Ron said loudly, revelling in the fact that there was no Madam Pince in the library to tell them off. The young man had jumped at the opportunity to make their research more comfortable and brought several jugs of pumpkin juice, numerous bottles of butterbeer and an assortment of sweets into the library. Hermione had frowned at him until he'd presented her with a box of her favourite Muggle Belgian chocolates; every protest against food in the library had died on her lips at that point.

"You're not actually doing anything," Harry felt compelled to point out, poking his wand at a book in front of him. The spell was supposed to scan the book for certain key words – Hermione had designed it herself and was immensely proud of the fact that Headmistress McGonagall was now considering putting it on the Hogwarts curriculum – but it was clear that he hadn't quite got it yet: The book let out a huge sneeze, rose a foot above the table and flapped in a sort of indignant way before crashing down again.

Ron snickered. "Good one, mate."

"I hate you." Harry stared gloomily at the pile of books stacked in front of him and then stood up, pulling the invisibility cloak over his head as he went. "I'm going to go and get the bowl from our room. Maybe it'll be an inspiration, who knows?"

Hermione nodded absent-mindedly, her nose buried in a dusty piece of parchment in front of her. "Be careful, Harry."

Harry wandered through an empty and quiet Hogwarts. It was the summer holidays; all the students had gone home, most of the teachers had left as well and even the ghosts seemed to be lying low. It was a sunny day outside, and tiny specks of dust were dancing in the air where sunlight was streaming through the windows. After picking up the bowl from the room he shared with Ron and Hermione, Harry found a large window sill and perched on top of it, staring outside.

It had been years since he'd been at Hogwarts; after taking his NEWTs he'd rarely looked back at a school career full of rather embarrassing incidents and painful memories. His dawning realisation that he was gay halfway through third year; the huge number of blazing rows with Neville all the way through fourth year; his father's death and the howler Sirius had sent him in the middle of breakfast when he'd come out to his mother. Regulus Black, standing tall in front of the board and explaining wordless magic, his eyes never leaving Harry's face – or had that been his imagination? The day Ron and Hermione had died, a sunny day just like this one; and their blood – there had been so much blood – looking impossibly red on the green grass.

No; he'd been glad to leave Hogwarts behind – he still was.

Getting up, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak tighter about himself and then started walking down the corridor. Suddenly he stopped and turned to his left, frowning.

He was standing in front of the wall leading to the Room of Requirement.

_This isn't:_

Harry woke up in his own bed to find the curtains in the room drawn back and early morning sunlight shining through the window. He stretched sleepily and was relieved to find that the pain in his back was mostly gone; nothing remained but an itching soreness that was sure to fade over the next couple of days. For the first time since the fight at the Ministry Harry felt well-rested and energetic; he got out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, contemplating whether he could skip Quidditch practice today or not.

He put on the clothes Severus had laid out for him, loose-fitting jeans, a black shirt and an equally black robe that ended slightly below his knees. By the lack of Quidditch training robes Harry guessed that the other man didn't mean for him to go to work either and it was with a relieved smile on his lips that he entered the kitchen where Severus had already prepared breakfast for the two of them.

"Morning!" Harry said cheerfully and plopped down on his chair, helping himself to toast and tea.

"Harry." Severus nodded and sat down opposite him. "I trust you've slept well."

"Like a stone. I'm sorry I didn't come and talk to you yesterday but I was knackered. I must have slept for, what, twenty hours? I've never done that before. I didn't know _anybody_ could sleep that long, let alone me."

"You were exhausted. And you used a lot of magic in a very short amount of time at a point where you really should have been in hospital instead of on your feet. Your body needed to recuperate and I suspect your mind as well."

"Sounds reasonable."

Harry took a bite off his toast, chewed and then asked, "So, how come you're able to do wandless magic? I thought it was impossible to focus your magic without a wand."

"It doesn't work like ordinary magic. It's more temperamental, if you will. I can only do half a dozen wandless spells and it took me years to master them. I've been practising the _Patronus_ charm since before you were born."

"Blimey," Harry said softly and cleared his throat. "I suppose I just wanted to say... Thank you. For everything. For helping me. I'm sorry Sirius blasted the Time Turners into oblivion. I – There was nothing I could do."

"You don't have to apologise," Severus said, startled, "I know it's not your fault. It's not even Sirius' fault, as much as I'd like to blame that flea-bitten mongrel. He didn't know, after all. And it's not me who's stuck in the wrong dimension."

"But your Harry will also be stuck in my world."

"Harry is resourceful. He always has been, getting himself and everybody around him into trouble. I believe in him. He will find a way to come back even if we don't."

_I believe in him._

The words hung between them and Harry ducked his head, blushing.

A moment later Severus started reading the morning newspaper. Harry polished off his breakfast – a full English, Severus hadn't even left out the Black Pudding – and revelled in the quiet domesticity. He'd just started to carry the dishes over to the sink when the door bell rang.

"Are we expecting someone? Muggle perhaps?" Harry asked.

Severus shook his head and went to open the door; Harry followed him.

"Mum!" he exclaimed upon seeing Lily Potter standing outside, nervously playing with the strap of her hand bag.

"Harry. Severus. May I come in?"

"Of course. Harry and I were just having breakfast. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee, maybe?"

"A cup of coffee would be lovely, thanks."

Severus had transformed into a perfectly amicable but slightly distanced host the minute Lily had entered the house; he offered her a seat in the living room and then went to the kitchen to prepare their drinks. Harry sat down opposite his mother but Lily patted on the seat beside her and said, "Come and sit with me, if you don't mind."

Harry obeyed, although he was slightly puzzled by her request. Once he'd sat down his mother didn't speak but instead looked around the room with barely disguised curiosity.

"I've never been here before," she finally remarked, "Harry – you – has been living here for two years and I never once visited. I had to ask Remus for directions, can you imagine? I'm sure that makes me a bad mother."

Harry frowned at her unusual choice of words. "I don't think that at all," he tried to comfort her. Lily let out a bitter laugh as Severus entered the room, putting down steaming cups in front of them.

"And how would you know?" she asked and Harry saw that she'd started to cry. He threw a panicked look at Severus but the other man merely raised an eyebrow at him, a befuddled expression on his face.

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said slowly.

"You're not my son," the witch said bluntly. "I talked to Albus last night and he told me everything."

Severus let out a soft, "Oh dear."

"You didn't tell me!" Lily suddenly exclaimed and both men flinched.

"I'm your mother – and you didn't see it fit to tell me that you're not actually my son! This has been going on for weeks and you simply kept on pretending! I'm his mother, Severus! I had a right to know!"

"And what a fine job you've done there, Lily," Severus said silkily. "You never even noticed that anything was amiss. Not very observant of you, was it?"

"How dare you accuse me, Severus Snape!" Lily hissed, nearly trembling with rage, "How dare you! You took my Harry made him into this – this -"

"Go on," the other wizard spat, "Say it! For once in your life tell me what you actually think of me! Your disapproval has been hanging over Harry's head for years, but you've never said a thing. Oh no, you just brushed him off and ignored him and when that didn't work you had Sirius to hide behind. So tell me! I'll be sure to pass the message on to Harry once he gets back."

Harry got the distinct feeling that he'd more or less ceased to exist once Severus and Lily had started fighting. Neither of them were looking at him and they were referring to the other Harry with an ease that made it appear as if he had simply stepped out of the room, due to return any minute.

"You're a bad influence on him!" Lily screamed and then clapped a hand over her mouth as if shocked at her own outburst. "Harry is twenty years old whereas you went to school with me and James – you're old enough to be his father! You're a social outcast living in a Godforsaken cottage in the middle of nowhere, in Yorkshire of all places, and Harry's career demands socialising with all sorts of people! That won't happen if he spends every single night with you sitting in front of the fireplace, will it? Harry's young, he's good-looking, he's popular -"

"He's everything I'm not?"

"Yes! The whole world would be open to him but you, you've got him and won't let him go! Merlin knows it was bad enough when he told us he was gay but I'm fine with that now. Really, I am. But this!" she made a sweeping motion with her arms. "This is a travesty! He's twenty years old for heaven's sake and he lives in a house his grandparents would approve of!"

The ensuing silence was only broken when Harry cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," he said softly, "I know you probably think it's none of my business because I'm not really your son, but I'm still him, in a way. And I like it here. I like this house. It's calm and... warm."

Lily snorted disbelievingly and leaned back on the sofa, crossing her legs. She didn't seem to notice that tears were still rolling down her cheeks; or if she did she didn't care.

"Well," Severus said, "This has certainly been... illuminating. Still, this begs the question: Why are you here? Was is just to communicate your maternal concern to us? In which case you're quite welcome to leave at any point in the near future."

"Oh, I'll leave soon, don't you worry," the witch snapped and then visibly tried to control her temper, going for a more civil tone. "I suspect Albus had a reason fore telling me about this. I had to wait until Gringotts opened this morning to get it or I would have come sooner."

She opened her hand bag and took a shining Time Turner from it, putting it one the table between them.

"But that's a Time Turner," Harry said dumbly, reaching out and touching it tentatively.

"Oh yes," Lily confirmed. "A Time Turner with a range of about fifty years. More than enough for your purposes."

"But how...?"

"It's a family heirloom. It's belonged to the Potters for centuries and they were too proud to give it up when the ban came in. It's been in my Gringotts vault for years."

"I told you that some wizarding families might have kept their Time Turners," Severus reminded him, "They're a sign of prestige even when not in use. And the Potters were – are – a pureblood family going back centuries, one long line of powerful Gryffindor witches and wizards. It makes sense for them to have kept their Time Turner."

"And you had this all the time," Harry said, stunned, "Oh Merlin, you had this all the time! If we'd told you – If I'd told you everything..."

"You could have avoided a lot of pain and misery," Lily finished the sentence for him. "Can you understand me now, understand my anger?"

"There was no way we could have known that you were in possession of a Time Turner," Severus cut in. "I considered it briefly before discarding the idea just as quickly."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because James Potter is still dead. I though if you'd had any chance to turn back time you would have prevented James' death."

"And who's to say I didn't try?" Lily asked bitterly. "I did. Albus warned me. Sirius was nearly read to stun me to prevent me from going. But I went and nothing I did helped. In the end I watched James die. I would have sacrificed everything for him to live – but what do you know, it wasn't mean to be. I locked the Time Turner away after that and destroyed every single reference to it in the family documents. I wanted it to be forgotten."

"Until now."

"I want my son back. I want to start fixing things; I want to make them right as far as I can."

"Ever if your son is a queer Quidditch-playing cowards who shirks his duties towards the Order?" Severus asked acidly.

"Don't say that!" Lily snapped. "I'm trying. I'll try, I promise. It's just... hard."

"It hasn't been easy on him either."

"Bring him back, Severus," Lily said, "Use this so I can make things right."

"I'll try."

Harry, in the meanwhile, had picked up the Time Turner and was studying it intently. When Hermione had got one in third year so she'd be able to attend all of her classes it had been a rather small object, something she could wear as a necklace. This one, on the other hand, was large and golden. The sand inside was of a dark grey colour and glittered as he slowly twisted the Time Turner in his hands.

He could go back.

His mother's visit had come completely out of the blue. After all, who would have thought that Dumbledore's remark about doors opening when others close would turn out to be quite a bit more substantial than his usual cryptic comments? But now Harry could simply take the Time Turner and give it some twists if he so wished, watch the now around him disappear.

"Harry," Lily put a hand on his arm and he looked up, startled out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry. I should have been more motherly I suppose. Caring. Albus told me your parents died when you were a baby?"

Harry nodded.

"Who did you grow up with?"

"The Dursleys," Harry said and derived guilty satisfaction at watching the witch pale.

"But Petunia hates magic!" she exclaimed, "Or is it different in your world?"

"Not really, no. But it's all right. I went to Hogwarts and I haven't seen them in years."

"I wish I could have known you better. If only I'd paid more attention..."

"It's all right," Harry repeated awkwardly, not knowing what else to add.

"I'll be going then. May I use your Floo?"

"Of course. There's powder in the box next to the pictures."

Lily smiled at the photograph of herself and James resting on the mantel piece, a picture taken in much happier days. She warmly embraced Harry who'd come to stand beside her and wouldn't let go for a long time. Harry buried his face in her hair, inhaling the clean scent. This woman before him was his mother; and yet she was not and never would be. He wasn't even sure whether he would miss her once he got back home.

Lily released him with a last squeeze and nodded at Severus before stepping into the fireplace, disappearing in a shower of green sparks.

Harry and Severus stayed behind in the living room, both of their gazes inevitably drawn towards the Time Turner sitting on the table in front of them.

* * *

It was some hours later that Harry walked next to Severus, both of them silent on their way from Hogsmeade to the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

They'd Apparated to the wizarding village, with Harry clinging to Severus' arm, a hint of desperation in his touch. Both of them had barely exchanged a dozen words since Lily had left; Harry had crossed the room to pick up the Time Turner and Severus had abruptly excused himself, saying that he had preparations to make. Harry had listened to him moving around the house: the soft click of the bedroom door, the flushing of the toilet; the kettle boiling in the kitchen – it was too early to bring out the alcohol, they'd have to make do with tea – and clinking glass as Severus had packed a small leather bag that he was now carrying over his shoulder.

Harry himself had collapsed in the armchair, the Time Turner still in his hands.

He had nothing to pack, nothing to prepare; his journey would be made in mind only.

Now they were walking side by side until they reached some bushes near the lake. Severus stopped and put down the bag.

"This is it, I think. You should remain undetected if you use the Time Turner here."

Harry shuffled his feet.

"Harry," the other man said gently, "It's time."

He nodded jerkily.

Severus let out a sigh. "There's so much that... But never mind that now. I've put some water in the bag, as well as Pepper Up potion. Take it before you look into the bowl and you should only stay unconscious for a short amount of time, if at all. There's some vials in there, memories. I'd be grateful if you could give them to my counterpart if you ever meet him."

"Before I kill him, you mean?" Harry asked, but his heart simply couldn't come up with enough hate to make the statement ring true. He didn't know how he would react if he met Snape now, but he doubted that he'd attack him in a mindless rage like he'd attacked Severus upon waking up in this strange new world.

"I will," he promised. "What's in them?"

"That is for him to tell you, if he so wishes."

"All right."

"There's something for you as well. Don't open it now."

"So this is goodbye?" Harry asked.

"I... suppose so."

"I don't know what to say," he admitted. "I've been wanting to get back and no that I can... It's all a bit sudden.

"It is," Severus confirmed, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I'll tell Remus you said goodbye?"

"Please. And my mum... And Sirius, I guess he knows all about it by now. Just tell them – Oh, it doesn't matter."

"All those people who are dead in your world. I'm sorry, Harry, that it has to be this way."

"Don't be. 'S not your fault, is it? And I could have ended up somewhere even more random, you could have been my dad or something."

Harry managed a small smile as Severus grimaced in distaste at the thought.

"I'll be fine," he assured the other man, "I'm going home! It's a happy occasion... I should be happy."

"But you're not?"

"I am," Harry said unconvincingly, "I will be. I don't have a choice."

He picked up the bag that contained the bowl and slipped the chain with the Time Turner over his head.

"I'll send him back to you," he promised.

"Harry..." Severus reached out as if to grasp his hand and all of a sudden his image blurred as tears rose in Harry's eyes. He was making a fool of himself, he knew it, and yet this was his last chance. His only chance.

Stepping forward, he pressed a fleeting kiss against Severus' lips, a salty taste mingling in the space between their mouths.

"Thank you," he whispered against the other man's ear and swallowed down the words he wanted to say but couldn't, not now, not ever.

He started to spin the Time Turner while still in Severus' arms and the wizard faded in front of his eyes, being enveloped in the grey mist of his own tears and time spinning and shifting back until the only thing that remained was the ghost touch of warm lips against his own.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_This is here:_

Harry took a few steps up the corridor.

"Please," he whispered.

Turning around he passed by the blank space of wall again.

"Please, I just need... I need..."

Passing it by a third time he stretched out his hand and touched the battered wooden door that had appeared there.

"Help me."

Then he twisted the handle and stepped through the door without looking back.

_Nowhere:_

There was no noticeable change in his surroundings as the world eventually stopped shimmering around Harry. He was feeling slightly dizzy, a little bit nauseous, but that was only to be expected after travelling back twenty-five years in time thanks to a spruced up hour glass.

He looked around; the bushes he was standing behind were maybe a little bit lower, a bit greener due to the season. The lake was glittering in the sunlight and the castle was looming over him. Harry was reasonably sure that he'd made it back to the right day. The only thing he could now do was to hope that the other Harry would turn up soon – because if he didn't then he was really, irrevocably stuck in this dimension with no way out.

He'd just started to grow nervous as a narrow, beaten door appeared in thin air in front of him. It opened a second later and he himself stepped through, looking suitably confused and carrying a wooden bowl.

"You made it!" Harry gasped as his counterpart started violently upon seeing him.

"Made it?" the other Harry repeated suspiciously. Oh, it was him all right: He was a bit smaller than the body he was currently inhabiting, and a lot thinner as well without the benefit of an extra layer of muscles thanks to daily Quidditch training. His hair was longer and as messy as ever; he was wearing old, faded school robes and the lightning bold shaped scar on his forehead was slightly darker than the rest of his skin.

"Into the past," Harry explained, "Didn't you – Didn't Hermione research the bowl?"

"I came through the Room of Requirement," the other Harry said, "I told it that I needed to go home. Why am I still on Hogwarts grounds?"

"You're in the past. Twenty-five years in the past to be exact," Harry said, "Severus figured out a way -"

"Severus! Where is he? Is he all right?"

"He's waiting for you," Harry said quietly, "He misses you."

The other Harry smiled wistfully. "I did as well. Your dimension scared me. Your Severus Snape is... dark."

"You've seen Snape? He didn't eviscerate you?"

"He's on our side. Or is that your side? He helped us to find another horcrux. But he's so bitter and angry. I don't understand him."

"I never could, either. And I probably never will, now."

"So what happens next?" the other Harry asked. "Why are we in the past and how do I get back?"

Harry quickly explained about the different dimensions, how splits occurred and how the bowl worked. The other Harry followed him intently, listening and nodding sometimes.

Finally he sat down cross-legged on the ground and put his bowl in front of him.

"Come on then. We have to hurry because we're screwed if we both stay here until Remus decides to intervene or not. Could cause all sorts of dimensional instability I'm sure."

Harry took out his own bowl and filled both of them with the water that Severus had packed in the bag. Flashes began to emerge in the depths of the clear liquid, snatches of colour, a blurred face, a bold of lightning. Then he gave the other Harry a bottle of Pepper Up potion and they both drank their share.

"Ready?"

The other Harry nodded.

"One... two... three!"

Harry opened his eyes wide and gasped as he couldn't turn them away from the bowl; his own green eyes were staring back at him out of the water and he couldn't move his head, wasn't even able to blink. The world went black around him.

He woke up some time later, grass tickling his cheek.

Sitting up, Harry could see himself lying on the ground a few feet away, still unconscious, dressed in jeans and stylish black robes. His hands flew up to his forehead; he could feel the achingly familiar ridges of his scar beneath his finger tips. Getting up, he looked down at himself. The ground seemed to be a bit nearer due to his shorter height; the bones in his wrist were more pronounced, his finger nails broken and dirty. He felt no pain in his back whatsoever, not even a lingering soreness.

They'd done it.

Harry hastily kicked both bowls over with his feet and watched as the water spilled from them and into the grass. He threw one into the bag he'd take home with him; then he kneeled down next to the other Harry, careful not to touch him. It was a paradox, both of them being in one place at the same time, in a single dimension that belonged to neither of them, not yet. He didn't want to make it worse by actually coming into contact with the other Harry; the magical consequences could be quite nasty.

"Wake up," he said and looked up as students started spilling from the castle, making their way towards the lake.

The other Harry stirred and his eyes fluttered open.

"We don't have much time, they've already finished their exams," Harry explained, "Your wand is in your pocket, Severus will explain to you why your back feels like one massive bruise and the Time Turner is pre-set. You can Apparate from Hogsmeade and Severus will be waiting for you at home. Take your bowl."

The other Harry complied, slightly dazed.

"Go," Harry told him, "Take care."

"You too," his counterpart whispered and spun the Time Turner. He quickly faded from view and Harry was left staring at an empty spot of grass.

The students were now close enough for him to hear their voices, laughing and teasing. There was a boy among them, his head buried in a piece of parchment, face obscured by dark hair. Harry's heart clenched at the sight of him.

Quickly picking up his bag he spared one last glance around him before grasping the handle on the door that would lead him home.

He stepped through; a moment later the door swung shut noiselessly and disappeared.


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_This is not here:_

Severus didn't know for how long he'd been sitting in the living room, waiting. Everything had been reduced to this: Elbows on his knees, his palms covering his face. His eyes were closed; the only sounds he could was a clock ticking away somewhere and his own breathing. With each breath he took he could smell the scent of his own clean hands, intermingled with the barest hint of Harry and the thrum of magic running through his veins.

He'd cleaned away the last remnants of breakfast in the kitchen; he'd made himself go upstairs to the guest room where he'd methodically stripped down the bed and then put the linen in the washing machine, together with every single piece of clothing Harry had worn over the past few weeks.

He'd sent the boy away hours ago. That short, awkward kiss had done nothing to keep Severus' heart from aching for the younger wizard. Sending him back had been the only possible solution, of course. Everything else would have been insanity. And yet...

He would never see him again. He would never know whether he'd defeat Voldemort and survive the war. Severus wondered if he'd ever find peace, if his restlessness and simmering anger would disappear once they weren't needed anymore to keep him alive.

He wondered if Harry would ever find somebody to love.

And finally -

"Severus?"

He looked up, slowly lowering his hands. Harry stood before him, looking exactly as he had when they'd parted all those hours ago – messy black hair and short robes, with a tired, drawn face that seemed to have aged a lot in a short amount of time. And yet the green eyes blinking at him were not full of confusion and distrust; rather they were achingly familiar to Severus, expressing cautious joy and hesitation all at once.

"Harry?" he asked, standing up, "Is it... I mean, is it you? Are you my Harry?"

And the other man laughed, a pure and full sound that he hadn't heard in far too long.

"Severus!" Harry crossed the room in long strides and swept him into a bone-crushing embrace, still laughing. Severus could feel his chest rumbling against his own, the fast staccato of his hear beat reassuring him that this was real; this was here.

"It's me," his lover whispered, "I'm yours, if you'll have me. I love you. Merlin, I love you."

Burying his nose in the other man's hair and cupping his face with both hands Severus squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

"I know."

_But this is; later:_

"Brooding, Potter?"

Harry half-smiled upon hearing Snape's voice behind him but didn't turn around. Instead he shifted in his seat, sitting cross-legged on the white marble stone.

"You could say that I am, yes."

"Not... _celebrating_ with your friends?"

"Not hiding away in Spinner's End rejoicing in your new-found freedom, sir?" Harry asked back cheerfully. "Really, we both know how to annoy each other until one of us starts shouting. We could try having a real conversation instead."

Snape laughed softly, scornfully, and took a few steps forward until he was at the edge of Harry's vision. For some moments neither of them spoke, instead looking at the sun setting over the lake.

"You should make some asinine remark now, Potter," Snape said drily, "About how you can't believe that it's over and that both you and me are still alive."

"I'd rather not if it's all the same to you."

"Fair enough."

The silence stretched between them, the only sounds being the waves lapping against the shore and the wind rustling the leaves in the nearby forest.

"I've got something for you," Harry said eventually, retrieving a small leather bag from his heavy wizarding robes. "Severus told me to give it to you."

Snape leaned against the stone Harry was sitting on and crossed his arms.

"Severus," he said softly and Harry couldn't tell whether he was angry or surprised.

"I didn't... I don't know – Just take it."

The older wizard looked down as Harry let the bag fall in the space between them with a soft clink but made no move to pick it up.

"It's memories," Harry explained, "He told me that much. But I don't know which ones."

"Memories of a happy life where I'm not despised and loathed by a bunch of dunderheads?" Snape asked caustically. "Visions of me living in homosexual bliss with your Quidditch-playing counterpart?"

He took the bag with a sniff of disdain and shook it.

"I didn't keep them for years just so you could chuck them into the lake the minute you got them!" Harry snapped. "You don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Have I struck a nerve somewhere? Maybe... Have you fallen for dear _Severus_?"

Harry bit back an angry retort and clenched his hands into fists. He felt like hexing Snape and nearly started reaching for his wand – thirteen inches, mahogany with a core of dragon heartstring. Finding it after emptying out the bag he'd brought with him from the other dimension, Harry had gone to the nearest Muggle pub and drunk himself into a coma. He'd woken up twenty-four hours later with the fuzzy desire to die, though whether that stemmed from the alcohol or his heartache he hadn't been able to tell.

Snape chuckled. "That's it, isn't it? Harry Potter, newly resurrected from the dead, hero of the wizarding world – queer and in love with the enemy!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry repeated.

"We'll never be friends," Snape said, "Or nostalgic comrades-in-arms comforting each other in twenty years' time. I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish by giving me this sentimental rubbish, but it's not going to work. Good night, Potter."

"Night, sir," Harry called after Snape's retreating figure. He stared at the lake for quite some time after the other wizard had left, eventually releasing a choked laugh that could easily be mistaken for a sob.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself. When he glanced down and prepared to leave, the bag and the memories with it were gone.

_Fin._

_Author's Note: _The title for this story is taken from the poem 'Fire in a Dark Landscape' by Charles Tomlinson (1927 -). No copyright infringement is intended.


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